Kirra's Journey - Episode 3: Outsider Looking In
by Jennyslaw
Summary: Kirra's journey to reclaim an adventurous life with Hercules leads her to the capital city of Euboea to help Hercules's good friend, Daedalus the Inventor, but instead of journeying to find her future, Kirra begins a journey into the past. An old ghost will surface, and acquaintances both old and new will emerge, forcing Kirra to recognize she is an outsider looking in.
1. Chapter 1

**_AUTHOR'S NOTE_ : This episode of Kirra's Journey is a fanfic rewrite of the original season three _Hercules the Legendary Journeys_ episode "Doomsday." **I've done my best not to take too many liberties with this episode, as it was written originally by Brian Herskowitz, who wrote several season three episodes of HTLJ. However, there are places where I have reused or re-purposed the original dialog. There are parts that I believe just cannot be changed. They are a part of what I like to call "show history." Still, I have altered some aspects of the story where geography and _real Greek history_ are concerned. I like mixing some truth with the chaotic history from the Hercules and Xena shows. You know how those shows are. The history in their world is all over the place.****

 **Nevertheless, I believe what I've written enhances the original, hangs upon its framework and fills in the blanks. I think you'll like it. I've rehashed several characters from the original, given them a greater part in the story, as well as added a couple of original characters—Kirra, of course, and a few others.**

 **When I write, I let the characters speak to me. They tell me, in essence, what direction the story is going to take. I had a basic idea. I knew I wanted to flow with the original episode, but some of my characters did things I didn't expect and new characters, that I did not expect to find, revealed themselves as I wrote. I'm both surprised and pleased with the results. I really hope you guys like this one, because I poured a lot of soul into it.**

 **Also, make sure you've read the preceding short story _Of Scribes and Heroes,_ before you read this one. And, if you haven't done so yet, reacquaint yourself with the "Doomsday" episode before reading chapter two. I think you'll better appreciate what I've done here in this rewrite. The only references to previous episodes are "The Wrong Path," "Mercenary" and "Love Takes a Holiday" if you'd like to go back and watch them, too.**

 **Enjoy!  
**

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_**Kirra's Journey**_

 **Episode 3 – Outsider Looking In  
**

* * *

 _Chapter 1_

She was young, barely out of her teens. Hercules guessed her to be eighteen, maybe nineteen. Young enough in his estimation to live with her parents, and she likely did. It wasn't her age that bothered him. It was the unabashed smile she threw his way while handing him a ladle of water.

He courteously accepted the ladle. It was warm out this afternoon and the cool water was welcoming, as was her prettiness. "Thank you," he said with a smile that brought a blush to her cheeks.

"You're welcome, Hercules." She gave a quick curtsy and a nervous smile, and went back to work with the women filling hopsacks with sand.

The half-god shook his head, laughing to himself as the young woman strolled away. He had yet to understand what he did to cause such a reaction with women, young or old. Iolaus wasn't with him this day, but it didn't mean he couldn't hear him say, "You're Hercules! Women love you!"

Maybe, but Hercules never saw himself as particularly special. Surely, there were other men with better skills at charming women than him. How could a simple thank you make a young woman blush? A perplexing problem, one Hercules frequently chalked up to celebrity. Many stories had passed from mouth to mouth about his life and his labors. There weren't many people who did not know of Hercules, son of Zeus. When the stories of his famous battles managed to make their circuit around Greece and reached his own ears, the truth of the matter had strayed so far from actual events as to be comical. More comical were the people who believed them.

Hercules hoped it wasn't his name alone and the sometimes-fantastical nature of his life that brought out the overzealous reactions in the people he met. He hoped it was something simpler, he hoped their response was due to who he was as a person. He strived to treat others as he would like to be treated, with a giving spirit and a compassion they might not receive from those who govern them. There wasn't a man, woman or child in the known world who didn't appreciate being shown kindness.

If that garnered him more attention than was necessary, so be it. There wasn't much he could do about it. He chose to give of himself and go the extra mile others might not be willing to go. He wanted the people to see he was as human as they were. After a rather harrowing trip to Sparta, it was the reason he had traveled all the way to Nesimus.

Last year at this time, he and Iolaus were plucking entire families from the roofs of their homes and out of tree branches. The rains had forced the river to break its banks and the village of Nesimus had become inundated. It was only by chance he and Iolaus had even been in the area. They had been off to put a stop to two warring factions in an eastern district when heavy rains and flooding nearly swept them out of their camp.

The whole ordeal had been rough, but there were good memories in with the bad. His fondest was watching as Iolaus returned a lost child to the outstretched arms of his mother and father. Iolaus had grown quite attached to the boy after he had rescued him. So much so, he had difficulty handing him over. Hercules had seen the future father in Iolaus that night and hoped one day he would have the opportunity to experience it. Being a father is a feeling like none other, and Hercules missed it desperately.

When it was over and they had begun to help the people of Nesimus to rebuild their lives, Hercules had promised to return and help them prepare before the rains came again. He only wished Iolaus had decided to join him. They parted ways outside of Corinth. Iolaus had begged off, saying he needed to visit his mother. And maybe he did, but Hercules had a feeling Iolaus wasn't interested in sandbagging a river. Maybe, too, his heart ached a bit at the memory of the little boy, whose name Hercules couldn't quite remember.

Hercules handed the ladle off to the next man, who thanked him with a nod. Sadly, there was no pretty young woman to hand this man a ladle of water. Just a well-traveled and weary hero with a penchant for helping the helpless.

He made his way to a wagon loaded with ready sandbags. Two men stood poised at the edge of the wagon, waiting to hand off the next load. Hercules extended his arms, and the men loaded him down with several large bags. He smiled as best he could through the strain of the weight in his arms and walked the distance to the river's edge.

Reaching his destination, Hercules set the bags down on the ground to better situate them on the pile one at a time. As he did, he began thinking about home and his mother. Right about this time, she would be readying the new crops and hiring the same men she hired every year for the task—husbands and fathers needing the extra work to feed their families.

He placed the last bag on the pile. Thoughts of mother led him to thinking about Kirra. What might she being doing right now? Mother would be keeping her busy with chores no doubt. Hercules wondered how she got along there. He wondered if she had comfortably settled in or if she was still homesick. He took a second before returning to the wagon to stare out over the river. It was pretty here. The shady trees, the tall grasses and oceans of different colored wild flowers, but it wasn't home. He had to admit, he was a little homesick himself.

 _Well, back to work._ It was the best thing to do. Reminiscing about home wouldn't bring it any closer.

Returning to the wagon, Hercules sensed a presence at his side and felt a hand warmly pat his back. It was Nan, Nesimus's village leader. The man gave him a jubilant smile. The prospect of making it through the flood months without incident had him beyond hopeful.

"How can we repay you, Hercules? Without your help, we could never have finished before the floods."

Hercules responded as only Hercules would—with humility. He patted the old man on the shoulder. "I only made the suggestion, Nan. Your people are doing most of the work."

Nan stopped and took Hercules's hand in a firm handshake. "All the same, we do thank you, and _we will_ repay you."

"It's not necessary. I'm glad to help."

Hercules couldn't have dissuaded the village leader even if he wanted to. He smiled and shook his head at Nan who walked away to continue overseeing the project. Hercules, as well, continued on his path toward the wagon for another armload, a satisfied grin firmly in place.

"Hey thanks, Hercules!" said another villager.

"My pleasure," he said and stretched out his arms to receive another load. The two men hefted three bags one at a time into his waiting arms. He thanked them, the strain of the weight evident in his voice, and turned back toward the river. The bags may have been heavy (wet sand usually was), but the work didn't bother him. To Hercules, the only feeling that came a close second to being a father was the sight of happy faces and knowing his positive actions were the reason for it.

Understandably, the next words he heard from crowd threw him for a loop.

"So ... _you're_ the Great Hercules?"

The words were said with such contempt Hercules stopped short his trek towards the river's edge. Though the voice sounded familiar, he couldn't imagine who it might be until he turned and was able to match the familiar voice to a much beloved face.

Kirra stood several yards away from him, her arms akimbo. His first thought was, _What's Kirra doing here?_ until he realized she was glaring at him. Hercules no longer knew what to think. She was a far prettier (and a far more welcome) sight than the young woman who offered him the ladle of water, though a stern expression marred her pretty countenance.

His grinned at her, though cautiously, for he had seen her angry before.

"I've heard a lot about you, Hercules. If, of course, you are indeed _the_ Hercules. But _this_ …" She pointed at the sandbags in his arms. "I would hardly call manual labor under a hot sun legendary, not for one who claims to be the son of Zeus."

A glimmer of the Kirra he knew shown in her eyes and kicked his brain into gear. They hadn't seen each other in what seemed like ages, and instead of greeting him with what undoubtedly would have been an overenthusiastic hug and the awkward words 'I missed you,' she chose to play him. Hercules decided he would play along.

Dropping his grin, he continued on his way toward the river's edge. "I'm sorry. You are...?"

"I'm Kirra of Endor," she said, following close behind him.

Hercules set the bags upon the pile. Did he detect a note of anxiety in her voice?

Once he'd situated the bags into position, he turned to face her, expertly hiding the smile that teased the corners of his mouth. "And what exactly do you do, Kirra of Endor?"

That he played along had Kirra's heart racing from sheer happiness. She too had to keep her lips from tugging upward. He remembered her. He wasn't angry to see her standing before him miles away from the last place they had seen each other. And if his demeanor was any indication, he missed her company has much as she had missed him.

Now, however, he had her at a difficult impasse. How should she answer? How to keep up this silly game? "Wait, I'm thinking..."

Lost in her thoughts, Kirra didn't see Hercules lower his head, incapable of keeping a straight face. Her mind was too fuddled with his presence. She could think of only one person, the one who had abandoned her on the road, the one she had worked so hard to keep from standing in this very spot.

"Oh, yes. I am a scribe."

That was it. Hercules could contain his laughter no longer. He had to turn away and return to the wagon which promised to keep him busy the rest of the day. Kirra followed close behind him, though, her quick steps trying to keep up with his long stride.

Once he had reasonably controlled himself, he said, "I see. And what exactly does a scribe do?"

Hercules already knew the answer. He'd run into a number of scribes in his time and rarely were his encounters with them pleasant. But, for the sake of Kirra's game, he asked, and he really wanted to hear her reply.

Kirra took a deep breath. "Well, I discover news worthy events by listening to blathering gossip, follow this news wherever it may take me, badger people to death until they tell me the truth and ... I write about it."

"Sounds exciting." Hercules could barely keep the snigger from his voice. He waited with arms extended for another load of sandbags.

"It is! It involves a lot of traveling and a knack for asking a lot of annoying questions. Which, according to some people, I happen to be very good at."

Feeling the weight of the sandbags bearing down on his arms, he began to head back for the river's edge. Her quick steps were behind him. Better she not see the smile that had spread across his face.

"Anyway, I overheard the great Hercules was _rerouting a river_ , so I came to see what the fuss was about. A woman from Corinth told me about it. I found it to be rather strange, because she claimed to be your mother."

Setting down the bags, Hercules asked, "Did she now?"

"Yes, and apparently, this whole 'rerouting-a-river' business is a huge load of ... you know. Because here you are _sandbagging_ in an attempt to keep the rising river at bay. How does sandbagging get translated into rerouting?"

"Well, Kirra of Endor, 'blathering gossip' as you call it, often translates into exaggeration." Hercules started walking back to wagon. "I guess it's what people do."

"And what of the tale of you killing a giant sea monster with your bare hands—was that an exaggeration?"

"Well, that one's mostly true."

"Ah, I see. A pattern of mythological proportions is developing here. What of the ridiculous story of the two-headed Hydra?"

Three more sandbags in his arms and another trek to the river's edge. "That one they got wrong."

"Ah-ha!"

"It had three heads."

Kirra stopped in her tracks while Hercules continued walking. "Did it really? How did I not know that?"

She looked up to see Hercules was nearly at the river's edge. She followed at a slight run. "Well now, you see, these half truths would never have happened had I been there to record the events through the magic of song and lyric!"

Hercules once again set down the sandbags, but this time he turned to her in doubt. "Song and lyric?"

"Well, yes," she said with a crooked grin, unsettled by his incredulous question.

Hercules finally broke character, not able to continue the charade. His feigned skeptic frown melted into a warm smile and he grabbed Kirra up in his arms, lifting her off the ground.

Only seconds ago, Kirra had been staring up at the half-god. Now, she found herself staring down at him. He spun her through the air as he had that day in Attilas when she turned down the King's offer. She screamed with fright and exhilaration, holding onto his shoulders in a death-grip, delighted with his reaction. How could she have worried he would be angry with her? How childish her thoughts had been.

"It is so good to see you!"

Staring up into her face, only then did it sink in how much he missed the girl. Her bright smile, her appetite for life and that giggle of hers—seeing her again brought back old feelings of home and happiness. Hercules couldn't quite put his finger on it, but it was like walking the gravel pathway to his old house and seeing Deianeira and the kids come running out the door to greet him. Though, Kirra managed to ruin the moment in seconds.

"Eww! Put me down! You're sweaty and you stink!"

Embarrassed, but glad he had set her feet firmly on the ground, Kirra sheepishly looked back at Hercules with a self-conscious smile. "I missed you, too."

With a grin he couldn't possibly remove from his face, Hercules asked, "What are you doing here? _How_ did you get here?"

Kirra hesitantly shrugged her shoulders. "Corinth bored me," she said. "And you're mother did tell me where to find you. So, I decided to take a little trip on my own."

"On your own?"

Hercules's smile fell as she figured it might.

"Well, why not? I had a very capable map, my comfortable walking boots and an itch to get out of the house."

"Are you sure that was a good idea?"

"Yes, I'm sure. Look at me. I was quite safe."

Hercules took her advice and looked at her. Kirra spoke too soon. His eyes went from her disheveled hair to her mud-splattered and tattered dress. "You look like you've been through the wringer. What happened? Is everything all right?"

Kirra swiped a nonchalant hand at him. "Yes, everything is fine."

"Where are Mother and Jason?"

"Home in Corinth."

Her indifference on the subject did not stop Hercules from reprimanding her with his eyes. "Kirra, you should have gotten Jason or someone to travel with you. Iolaus was in the area recently. I'm sure he wouldn't have minded—"

"No, thank you," she retorted quickly, hoping to stop that conversation in its tracks. "There's no need for you to worry. I had a traveling companion for most of my trip. I met a perfectly nice woman along the road. Actually, _she's_ the scribe. We talked the whole while and got on quite nicely. Nothing bad happened."

Hercules sighed. "That's not the point."

"Then what is the point?" Once again, the arms were akimbo and she voiced her question with something akin to contempt. Only this time Kirra wasn't pretending.

"The point is..." Hercules began in the hopes of placating her, but the look on her face placated him instead. "I don't know what the point is."

Annoyed, Hercules headed back to the wagon.

 _So much for not making him angry,_ Kirra thought, and pattered after him.

"You're worrying for nothing, Hercules. I seriously doubt every day and every location brings with it dire circumstances or dangerous situations."

Kirra stopped in her tracks when Hercules came to a halt and stared at her. Then, he picked up the pace again.

"Well, it's true," she continued. "Not once did we encounter any sort of evil. In fact, our journey was pleasant, _quiet even_."

Hercules had a bad feeling that was about to change. Perhaps the very reason her journey had been pleasant and quiet was because she hadn't been with him. It got him to wondering about the person she traveled with.

He stopped at the wagon. "Who did you say you traveled with?"

"A scribe. She called herself Katrina of Katea." The memory of their conversation, and Katrina's story that Hercules's friend Daedalus had caused the death of his own son, returned. "She said she was on her way to the capital city of Euboea and hoped to find you along the way."

"What's there?"

Kirra hesitated. Did he know? "A man named Daedalus. Don't you know him?"

Another set of sandbags landed into Hercules's waiting arms. He turned to her with a frown. "Yeah, he's a good friend of mine. I haven't seen him in ages, though."

"I've always wanted to meet him. I've heard so much about him, and not only in connection with you. He seems like a fascinating person. What's he like?"

"He's probably the smartest man I know," he said as he walked back to the bank.

"That's it?" Kirra asked with a tentative laugh. "You can do better than that, Hercules. Tell me something I _don't_ know."

"That depends."

"On what?"

Hercules looked back at her, a grin pulling at the corner of his mouth. "On what you don't know."

It pleased her to see something of a smile on his face, but it didn't still her worry. She couldn't tell whether news of Daedalus had reached him or not. "Oh, please. I may claim to know everything about you, but it doesn't mean I do."

Hercules would have laughed when Kirra averted her eyes had he thought she'd done so in embarrassment. But there was something more pressing in her manner. She had begun to wring her hands.

He set the bags down and turned to face her. "Kirra, what is it? What did the scribe want with Daedalus?"

A sudden guilt hit her square in the chest. "Oh, Hercules. You haven't heard."

"Heard what?"

"I'm sorry you have to find out this way."

Kirra turned away, reluctant to speak it, but Hercules grasped both of her shoulders in his hands.

"Kirra, what are you talking about?"

"The scribe, she said…"

"Yes?"

"She told me the reason she was heading to Euboea was because she heard that Daedalus's son, Icarus … is dead."

Hercules dropped his hands and backed away. He looked as if someone had punched him and Kirra felt like that someone.

"Dead?"

"Yes." The worst part of the tale was yet to come and Kirra had no idea how to say it. There was no better way than to... "And she's claiming Daedalus is the one who killed him."

* * *

Kirra couldn't stop wringing her hands or fidgeting with her skirts or pulling at her curls while Hercules made his apologies to the village leader of Nesimus. He had made his decision not long after she relayed the story the scribe had told her. She felt bad enough for having to be the one to give him bad news. Now, it was worse. Hercules was going to leave the people to finish the job of sandbagging the river on their own.

"I know this is bad timing, Nan," Hercules said, regret plastered to his face. "But, I need to visit a friend. He may need my help. He's not far from here in the capital city."

"Ah, yes, Chalcis," Nan replied with a nod.

Kirra didn't know much about Chalcis or its inhabitants, but she could gather from Nan's bewildered expression that he did not hold them in high regard.

"I understand," Nan said. Kirra wasn't sure if he really did, but he didn't argue. "Please, go and help your friend."

"I'm sorry about this, Nan. I promise you, I'll be back well before the rains come."

The idea of leaving the people behind to continue the work he promised to help complete ate at Hercules. His only consolation was Nan seemed to appreciate his predicament. The village leader and his subjects were capable of continuing through the evening. However, they were counting on his strength and knowledge to help them see the task through to its completion. Promise or not, Hercules left them with instructions on how they should proceed in case he didn't make it back in time.

Kirra watched from the sidelines as Hercules instructed the village leader and some of his more capable men on what they needed to accomplish before his return. A few rounds of handshakes and well wishes, and Hercules returned to Kirra's side, his warm smile irrevocably lost. Remorse and sorrow now clouded his features. He tried to smile for her sake, but it was a pitiable attempt. Kirra felt bad for him and was not too proud of herself.

"I'm sorry, Hercules. I wish I hadn't given you the horrible news."

He dismissed her worry with a wave of his hand. "Don't be. I'm sure I would have found out one way or another."

"Is there anything I can do?"

"Yes, there is. Tell me more about this scribe. Did she say when this happened?"

"No, not to me. She only told me Daedalus used his son to test some kind of flying device, but something went wrong."

Hope reappeared in Hercules's eyes. "Then, it was an accident. Daedalus didn't actually kill him."

"I don't know," Kirra said apologetically, shrugging her shoulders. She didn't want to fill him with a false hope if indeed the scribe's story was true. "It does seem as if it was just an accident, but the scribe, the way she told the story made it seem as if your friend Daedalus was responsible."

His hope vanished. "What did she say?"

This was the last thing she wanted to convey to Hercules. "That he's living in Chalcis, employed by the king himself to create weapons for his army."

Hercules's brows came together in a deep frown and met her eyes pointedly. "No. That's not the Daedalus I know. If he discovered his invention could harm someone, he would dismantle it or destroy it immediately. I don't care what this scribe says. She has her story wrong. I need to see Daedalus and set this straight, if only for his reputation."

"You're headed for the capital city, then?" Kirra didn't like the note of desperation in her voice.

"Yeah. It's not too far from here. I should be able to get there before nightfall. I can talk to Daedalus, see how he's doing and get the real story."

Seeing as how she had come all the way out here to see him, and how despondent she appeared at the idea of his leaving, Hercules decided he had better take Kirra with him. For her own sake, at least. He could keep an eye on her and make sure she didn't get into any trouble.

Who was he kidding? He hadn't seen her in what felt like an eternity. Having her here, even if he didn't approve of _how_ she got here, was like having a light in the darkness. Bad news was never an easy thing to hear, but it always came softer from a friend than from a stranger. Hercules was glad of her company.

"You're welcome to come along," he added.

Kirra looked up at him, hopeful, but she also didn't want to be a burden. "Are you sure?"

"Yeah," he told her. "Unless, you'd like to stay and help sandbag." Despite the situation, Hercules laughed. Kirra's sudden frown tickled his funny bone. "I'm joking."

"Oh," Kirra said with some relief. If it were what Hercules would have wanted of her, she would have obliged him, but the idea of sandbagging a river was not to her fancy. "Not very funny."

He continued to laugh as he put an arm around Kirra's shoulders, turning her in the direction of the road. "It is definitely good to see you again, Kirra."

"You, too." She smiled up at him, happy to see the smile returning to his face. How she had missed him!

"What has it been? Three, four months?"

"Something like that."

"And, you decided to come looking for me because…?"

Kirra dropped her gaze self-consciously. Her cheeks burned and he had to know why. He must have thought her completely daft!

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 **Please leave a review, and thanks for reading.**


	2. Chapter 2

_**Kirra's Journey**_

 **Episode 3 – Outsider Looking In  
**

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 _Chapter 2_

Kicking through the long grass, Kirra absently twirled a curl on her finger. She liked the feel of the soft grass. The blades played at her ankles and calves as they sailed underneath the length of her blue skirt. They were a gentle distraction to the annoying thoughts weighing on her mind. She couldn't understand how, after the length of time without Hiram's influence in her life, she could continue to feel the weight of his disregard. She thought his absence in her life would heal the wounds in her heart—her feelings of worthlessness, the lack of confidence in her own abilities. Hercules would never feel that way about her, but the thought always nagged at the back of her mind. 'Could he be cursing me right now for having come all this way, interfering in his life? Could he be thinking of the best way to get rid of me?' They were ridiculous thoughts, but a part of her still worried.

While Kirra fretted, Hercules contemplated her in the quiet of the early afternoon. She seemed very far away. He wondered what her thoughts were. He hoped she wasn't still fretting over being the bearer of bad news. She had a bad habit of holstering blame on her own shoulders when there was none. The only cure for worry Hercules knew of was to get the mind off ill thoughts and onto a lighter subject…

"What have you been up to since we last saw each other, Kirra? I hope you and Mother are getting along well."

She looked up at him, happy to be pulled away from her thoughts. Even happier was she to end the unwelcome silence. "Oh, quite well," she answered, continuing to twist the curl on her finger. "She keeps me busy with work mostly."

Hercules laughed. "I know the feeling."

With a sigh, Kirra expounded, "Hercules, I love your mother. She's the sweetest thing in Corinth, or Greece for that matter, but she is not short in the hard work department, is she?"

"No she's not," he said, a laugh still working its way through him.

"Not that I'm afraid of hard work, mind you. Back home I had a list of chores up to Mount Olympus, but Alcmene..." She ended with another sigh. By the look on Hercules's face, she didn't have to go into detail.

"I know exactly what you mean. I can't go home without being put to work either."

Feigning a higher pitch, she came as close to the voice of Alcmene as she could. "'An idle mind and idle hands puts one at the doorstep of Hades.'"

"I have not heard that since my academy days."

She and Hercules shared another laugh, settling into another small bout of silence. Thinking back, work was not the only thing she had been up to since the last time she had seen him. Beyond the work and the trips into town, there had been much discovery in her new setting—new people, new ways of going about everyday life and a new sense of freedom. She didn't want Hercules to think his mother had been leading her about like a slave. To the contrary! She had taught her so much, had given her so much, that Kirra didn't know if she would ever be able to repay her.

"She is very kind, though. I mean that with all my heart."

"Yes, she is, isn't she?"

Hercules knew better than to worry that Alcmene had been mistreating Kirra, despite her complaint about work. He was quite sure his mother had come up with many other activities to keep Kirra occupied. As much as his mother enjoyed shopping in town and walks about the countryside, there was no way Kirra had much time to be left alone with her thoughts.

"She's teaching me to sew, actually," Kirra continued. She pinched at a pleat in her skirt near her waist. "She and I did this one. Well, I didn't really do much, but I did pick out the fabric. Blue, of course."

Hercules looked again at her tattered dress and grinned. "Well, I'm sure it was beautiful at one time."

Cheeks aflame, Kirra averted her gaze to the ruin of her dress. "Yes, Alcmene is going to kill me. I suppose I should explain."

With a chuckle, he placed a hand at her back. "Come on. We have plenty of time for a tale or two. The road to Chalcis is not too far now."

* * *

A mile or two down the road, they arrived at the same fork in the road Kirra had encountered on her way into Nesimus. Hercules took the bend in the road without a thought toward their destination. He walked with a determined stride, a man on a mission. She had seen him walk with this particular gait before, on the road to meet Breccias in Attilas. (That had been so long ago, Kirra had nearly forgotten it.) Yet, despite his desire to move quickly, Kirra did not have to rush to keep up with him. Hercules was relaxed, open and ready to talk.

The road was not cobbled, nor was it uncomfortable. It was a simple dirt road bordered by brilliant hues of greenery. Its vibrant variations contrasted well with the deep brown of earth, and lacking only in the added color of wildflowers. But it wasn't all that had Kirra's constant attention.

As they walked along, Hercules told her a story of shipwreck, sand creatures, pirates and redemption. His masterful story telling had her captivated. Only one other person could have told the story better, but Kirra had not met her yet.

"So, there we were," Hercules said, doing his best to make the story as suspenseful as possible. "In the middle of nowhere—injured, without food or water, desert as far as the eye can see—and we're stuck on this rock."

If Kirra could see her face, she might have laughed. His story had her so riveted she felt a part of it. "What did you do?"

Hercules found himself there again, sharing a seat on the remains of a stone building with a man who only moments before had tried to kill him. They sat atop a pinnacled rooftop jutting out of a sea of sand with enough mass for the two of them. Hercules could well remember his parched tongue, the pang of hunger and the dizzying waves of pain from the infected and swelling wound in his arm. He'd been in many scrapes and troubles in his lifetime, but that was the first time he thought he might die. For a time, sitting on that rock, he had stared death in the face.

Hercules shrugged in answer to Kirra. "There wasn't a whole lot we could do. Those things were all around us. One step down into the sand and it would have been on us in a second."

His fight hadn't been with the creatures only. He had warred with himself, as well. He felt pulled toward the inevitable. Maybe it was the work of Hera, or maybe it was merely his own lack of confidence that he would make it out alive. Whatever it was, Hercules refused to give in. He had stood at the doorstep of Hades defied him. He wasn't going down without a fight. He had too much to live for.

Kirra cut into his thoughts. "Well? Clearly, you defeated the creatures or you wouldn't be here. Please tell me you didn't let them eat the other man so you could make a clean getaway?"

"No, not quite," he said, chuckling. "Derk and I both made it off of the island alive."

"That's a relief."

"Though, the pirates turned out to be not so lucky."

Kirra winced. "I guess in every story someone always has to pay the ultimate price."

"If only it was just a story. Fortunately, though, with Derk's help and a little ingenuity on my part, we were able to defeat the creatures."

With a dubious raising of an eyebrow, Kirra asked, "Is that _really_ all it takes to defeat a monster?"

Hercules conceded to the truth of the matter. "Actually, I smashed one between two fallen columns and then we ran towards each other in a circle until the other two crashed into each other."

Kirra laughed at his awkward expression. "The great Hercules at work. I'm sure that one will go down in the annals of history."

"I'm sure. By the time it's been retold a thousand times, I'll have defeated them completely by myself."

"Yes, and with one arm you'll have single-handedly grabbed each one by the tale and swung them up into the heavens to shine as stars in the night sky."

"Don't," Hercules pleaded. "Derk deserves more than to end up as a footnote in this story. He's a good man."

He joked, but Kirra recognized the deep respect in his words. "What happen to him?"

"When we made it to Sparta, he was sentenced to be executed."

"Oh no. I'm sorry, Hercules."

"No, it's okay. I … I helped Derk to escape."

Kirra's eyes widened in disbelief. This was unlike the man she had come to know. "Why?"

"What the Spartans call justice, isn't justice. I let Derk go back to his family to make a new life for himself."

"But, he's a killer. Do you really think he can change?"

"Absolutely, I do. Derk has a good heart. Life and circumstances led him down the wrong path. It took him a while, but our journey together, and the love he has for his family, helped him to see where he had gone wrong. Believe me, Kirra, anyone can change if their heart is right."

Kirra immediately thought of Katrina and how she had badgered Alcmene. She saw a correlation of sorts in Hercules's tale. His journey to seek justice had changed his understanding of it and how it affected others. Her journey with Katrina followed along a similar path, minus the threat of death and without the positive outcome of Derk's story.

"What about scribes who'll do anything for a story?"

"Even them." Hercules watched her, seeing her inner conflict. "Something you want to tell me."

"The things Katrina did … well, she had me thinking the worst of her."

"What do you mean?"

"When I first met her, she was intent on finding you. So much so, she didn't care who she had to go through. That person happened to be your mother." She watched Hercules's brow pull together. "She asked Alcmene all sorts of personal questions. Questions about you, about her, about your wife and children…"

She paused. Although she knew the tragic story of what happened to Hercules's family, it was a subject she had heretofore chosen not to broach. Kirra was hesitant to retell the exact words the scribe used, not only for Hercules feelings but for her own discomfit for having to relay it. She had divulged enough depressing information for one day.

She continued. "Let's just say she was looking for a juicy story." Hercules showed his understanding with a nod. "I was worried she might do or say something to hurt you. So, I followed her. My journey began in far better appearance than I look now, but I wanted to get at her level. A peasant girl on her way home to a peasant's village. She wouldn't suspect I was living in the home of her quarry's mother. But as I traveled with her, I got to see a different side to her, much like you did with your friend Derk. When Katrina isn't being a scribe, she can be a good person. Perhaps with the right influence, as Derk had, she might not turn a blind eye to the feelings of others."

"And you doubt you can be that influence?"

His question startled her. "Well, I— _no._ Yes, maybe—I don't know."

Hercules calmed her with a pat on the shoulder and changed the subject. "Is mother alright?"

"Oh yes," she said, happy to turn the subject of the conversation away from herself. "You should have been there, Hercules. You would have been proud of the way she stood up to the scribe. Your mother is a very tough lady."

"She's had to be."

In his eyes was a sadness that pulled at Kirra's heart. She could only imagine what a young Alcmene had been forced to endure when she realized the father of her youngest son was not her husband, Amphitrion, but Zeus, King of the gods. The truth was too fanciful for Kirra to contemplate, but it had to be worse for Alcmene. Not only had she become the subject of local gossip for becoming pregnant after her husband was reportedly killed in battle, but she had unwittingly incurred the wrath of Hera.

Worst of all, after the rumors faded into the past and her son had grown up strong and courageous, Alcmene lost her grandchildren and a daughter-in-law she cared greatly for. Curious though she might be, Kirra would no more have questioned Alcmene about those events than she would Hercules. And to her credit, Alcmene never spoke of it.

Curiosity may have worked hard to get the better of her, but Kirra would not submit to it. She would not hit close to the heart. "Hercules, what was your wife like? If you don't mind my asking, that is."

"No, I don't mind." Hercules smiled through his lingering melancholy. Kirra could almost see the memories playing before his eyes. "Deianeira was not only the most beautiful woman I'd ever met, but she was a most beautiful person, as well. She had the biggest heart. She was an amazing mother, a natural at it. But she didn't only take care of our kids, she took care of others, too. She bought supplies for the older ones in the nearby villages, helped needy widows and fostered their children. I haven't met anyone since who can match her."

"You were lucky to have been a part of her life."

"I know I was."

The tragedy of their deaths was the first she had ever read of Hercules. It was Hiram who unwittingly fostered her obsession. He left a chronicle of the event, perhaps written by a scribe from some other village, sitting on the kitchen table. He had harrumphed and made his condescending remarks. Little did he know how they would spark her sixteen-year-old interest. She read the whole story. She even cried. But it was the story of Hercules's quest for revenge and his eventual turn from that path which solidified her interest in his life and labors. From then onward, she could not get enough.

When life with her stepfather was at its lowest, Kirra imagined herself a part of Hercules's family, sharing dinner with him and Deianeira and their children. She would imagine what they were like and whether or not she would have fit in.

With a soft voice, Kirra asked, "Do you think she would have liked me?"

Hercules wrapped an arm about Kirra's shoulders and smiled broadly. "She would have loved you. She would have taken you in as if you were her own daughter without question."

His words gave her hope that her imaginings hadn't hit too far from the mark, but they also left her feeling sorry for him. She could not know what he must have suffered. She had not gotten the chance to know and love the one person she lost in life—her father. She had not felt his lost as Mother had. The idea of loosing someone she loved in death terrified her. How had Hercules and Alcmene handled losing four loved ones at once?

"If I loved someone as much as you loved her, and then lost them suddenly, I don't think I could speak of them with such easy words."

Kirra didn't readily expect a response, but she didn't expect silence either. Looking up at him, she saw his brows had drawn together in a quizzical expression. He had spotted something farther ahead up the road.

Turning in the direction of his gaze, Kirra saw nothing but where the path curved in the direction of a grove of trees. Then, as if his will had summoned them, a dozen or so people emerged from the grove; men, women and children dressed in poor villager's clothing. They were not out for a leisurely stroll to enjoy the afternoon. No, these people were running and etched into their dirty faces was one emotion— _terror_.

"It's never easy," she heard Hercules say beside her. He had focused his attention on the terrified people rushing toward them, and yet he found a second of time to respond, to let her see through the window of his heart. She felt his inner pain.

Hercules released her arm and walked ahead a few paces to intercept the man running at the head of this ragtag group of villagers. The man, however, skirted passed him, a wild look in his eyes and continued down the road. Had Iolaus been at his side, his buddy would likely have told him what happens when you assume, but that's what he had been doing. He assumed the man was running toward him for help. But no. These people weren't running _to_ anyone, they were running _away_ from someone … or something.

A woman passed them, then a child, each one a mural of fear. They ran passed as if he and Kirra were not standing in their path.

"Hercules, what's going on?"

He intended to find out. Another one came toward them, and another one. Kirra moved to the side of the road. Hercules did not. He stood in the path of a second man, blocking his retreat.

"Wait!" he cried, grabbing the man by the arms to get his attention. "Wait! What's going on?"

Winded, the man looked at Hercules as if he had appeared out of thin air. "Back there," he shouted in a raspy voice and pointed behind him. "Soldiers. Attacking our village." The terrified villager slipped from Hercules's grasp and continued down the road.

In all the years she lived in the small village of Endor, never had they encountered bandits or warlords bent on ravaging or destroying them. Things there were relatively peaceful, save for the troubles at home.

She approached Hercules once the last of the villagers had scurried past them. The road ahead was now clear. "What are we going to do?"

Her question was tentative, perhaps a bit searching, and Hercules knew it. He turned to her with a wry smile. " _I'm_ going to go check it out. _You_ are going to stay here."

"Oh … all right."

Hercules took a few steps, then stopped and faced her once more. "What was it you said about 'dire circumstances and dangerous situations'?"

Kirra gave a quick, embarrassed smile before Hercules turned and ran ahead up the road.

* * *

Mere moments had passed since Hercules disappeared at the bend in the road. Kirra did her best to wait patiently. Wringing her hands and pacing back and forth across the pathway was her best effort at patience. More throngs of refugees passed her as they fled their village. Many of them ignored her, their fearful eyes focused on escape, but one, an older woman struggling to keep pace with the younger ones, stopped when she saw her.

"My dear," she said, taking Kirra's arm in tight grip enhanced by adrenaline. "What are you doing? You need to keep moving. They'll be coming after us. We need to hide."

The old woman began to pull her along. "No, please," Kirra begged. "I'm waiting for a friend."

" _A friend?_ Dear, anyone who got left behind is either dead or dying. You can't stay here!"

Kirra felt sure her heart had skipped a beat or two. What was the word? Palpitate. Mother used to say, "Child, you give my heart palpitations," anytime she got into trouble. And this was more trouble than she had bargained for. This was supposed to be a leisure trip to find Hercules, warn him of the scribe's presence and tell him of his friend's plight. How did she find herself in the middle of a massacre?

Though she blanched, Kirra tried to center herself and lose the fear. It wasn't hard knowing Hercules was near. Squeezing the old woman's hand, she said, "Don't worry, ma'am. My friend is Hercules."

"Hercules?"

"Yes," she said with a nod and a comforting smile. "He's on his way right this moment to put a stop to what's happening in your village. Take heart. It will soon be over."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes, ma'am. Here…" Kirra removed the shawl Alcmene had sewn from about her waist and placed it around the older woman's shoulders. "Go with your people. Tell them of Hercules. When this is over, we'll come to find you and bring you back home."

Hope filled the woman's countenance. "Thank you, dear. And thank Hercules."

"You'll get to thank him yourself. Now go."

Kirra was grateful when the old woman moved on. The throngs thinned out to a straggler or two. These as well passed her without a bat of an eye in her direction. Now, there was only an empty pathway ahead of her. And no sign of Hercules.

In the distance, she could hear the sounds the retreating villagers pounding feet had masked—shouting, screaming and the unmistakable sound of a distant explosion. Positivity had begun to eke out of her as surely as water out of a wineskin. What was happening? Could she have been wrong in her assertion? Hercules was not invincible, nor infallible. Was he all right?

Her heart now filled with an unspeakable dread. Kirra did not know for certain what she might encounter, but she knew she could not stay here. Orders or not, she grabbed up her skirts and ran toward the sounds. She had to get to Hercules.


	3. Chapter 3

_**Kirra's Journey**_

 **Episode 3 – Outsider Looking In  
**

* * *

 _Chapter 3_

Running was not what had Kirra's heart racing. Fear played a decent role in it. There was a time when only the angry voice of Hiram could run her blood cold. Times had changed. A chill encircled her so swiftly she could feel the gooseflesh rising on her arms.

Before her was a meager village both in size and in possessions. She hadn't imagined a village could get any poorer than Endor. This village consisted of tent-dwellings and ramshackle storehouses build of thatched straw. Farm animals and rows of corn told of their livelihood. They were simple farmers.

So, why was this village of poor, innocent farmers overrun with armor-clad soldiers?

Villagers hid in terrified packs, hiding behind busted wagons or huddling in tents that wouldn't have saved them from a windstorm let alone a platoon of soldiers. The majority of them had run, but the ones who were left wouldn't last long. The old woman was wrong. No one was dead yet. The Fates, however, seemed poised with sharpened sheers.

Off in the distance was an instrument of war she knew of as a ballista. Hiram told many tales of them, even claimed to have built one or two in his time. Ballistae were war chariots built with a firing mechanism, designed to launch arrows or other projectiles. This one was unlike any ballista she had ever heard tale of, and its projectile far deadlier than any arrow. Atop it sat a missile as large as a full-grown man. As it came to a shuddering stop, one soldier set its massive tip aflame and two others manned the trigger. They aimed the missile at a tent full of terrified villagers.

Kirra paled until her eyes caught sight of Hercules.

There he stood in the center of mayhem, as big as life and facing his enemy as she had always imagined him in the stories she read. With the strength of one hundred men, he lifted a hefty sized stone and threw it like a mere discus in a sporting match. It deftly met its target in mid-air, knocking the ballista's deadly flaming missile off course.

Hand to her heart, Kirra breathed a sigh of relief. It was over. Surely, the soldiers knew better than to contend with the likes of the son of Zeus!

She ran to Hercules's side. As long as he was there, Kirra felt safe. "Hercules, that was amazing!"

He turned to her, a look of horror on his face. "Kirra! What are you doing? I thought I told you to stay back."

"I - I'm sorry, Hercules," she said miserably. "I was afraid for you. Everything is all right now, isn't it?"

The answer was a chorus of animalistic cries and growls. soldiers were advancing, and they weren't empty-handed. Sharpened swords gleamed in the sunlight and an unfettered malice burned in their eyes.

"Oh no," she whispered. They were all going to die.

Hercules grasped her arms. "Get these people out of here. And this time, do as I ask."

"Okay," she cried. "I'm sorry!"

Hercules didn't have to tell her twice. The approaching soldiers were the impetus she needed to get moving. A few of the villagers had begun to step out of their hiding places and Kirra urged them toward the grove of trees she had stepped from only moments before.

"This way! Hurry!"

Kirra let them slip past and disappear into the trees beyond while she watched from a distance the soldiers meet the wall that was Hercules. He took out the first wave of three in record time—a well-placed punch, a kick, a tackle. They were down for the count, but the next wave came in time for the sound of a child's cry to reach Kirra's ears.

There, under a wagon and hiding behind one of its wheels, was a little girl. Blood in her hair and tears in her eyes, the child couldn't have been any more than five years old. The source of her cries was the leering soldier creeping up to the wagon.

The last villager spirited past Kirra. She knew she should follow and do as Hercules had asked, but she couldn't leave the child behind. What could she do? She had nothing but a traveling satchel in the crook of her arm. She did not have the strength of any god!

But she did have her wits, and right now, they were as sharp as ever. She had many years to learn how to defend herself and her mother from Hiram's temperamental personality. In many cases, defense called for diversion, a way to draw attention away from his building rage.

Searching the ground, Kirra found a rock. Not so big as to cause serious injury, but palm-sized, big enough to sting. And from what she understood, she had terrific aim!

Kirra slung the rock through the air with all her strength and it met its mark—the exposed flesh of his throat. In an instant, the soldier went from leering to choking, and hands that had been reaching for the girl were now reaching for his throat.

"Child!"

The little girl turned at Kirra's call.

"Run to me! Quick!"

Fear may have frozen the child in place under the wagon, but rescue got her moving. The little girl crawled underneath the length of the wagon to get to her and she made good progress, but not fast enough. Kirra underestimated the soldier's ability. A purple mark had begun to form on his throat, but it didn't hinder the movements of his feet. A few steps forward and he had a hold of the girl's ankle. She screamed.

Kirra didn't think. She grabbed hold of the only weapon she had—her satchel. Surely, it had enough weight with her traveling supplies to knock him back several steps. She swung it in an arc, not aiming for his armor-clad skull, but his well-exposed face. The satchel made contact with a sound not too dissimilar from a slap, leaving the soldier groping for his injured face. Blood began to trickle from his nose.

Dumbfounded, Kirra felt the satchel and remembered the painfully unwanted sandals Alcmene had packed for her. They'd come in handy after all.

"Thank you, Alcmene!"

Most importantly, Alcmene's minor miracle had caused the soldier to release the girl. She was free and making for the end of the wagon. Kirra snatched the girl up in her arms and would have run but for the wad of hair caught in the soldier's grasp. Foiled again!

"You little wench!" he rasped.

In Kirra's experience, men were most vulnerable in one place, armor or not. One well-placed kick usually brought them to their knees. She'd gotten in more than her share of kicks to Hiram's vulnerable place during the time she and Mother lived with him. She waited for the soldier to crush her back against his chest. The child screamed again, but Kirra wasted no time in jabbing the heel of her boot where it counted. As she predicted, the soldier let go and went to the ground on his knees. Enough time for her to turn and land a boot to his jaw.

Kirra ran to the grove of trees, child bobbing in her arms, without looking back. Her one thought was getting back to Hercules, but she had been given a task which she intended to see through to its completion—getting the villagers to safety. She met them on the other side of the grove huddle together. They were a pitiable sight, women and children crying, men fighting to catch their breath and comfort their families.

One woman broke from the crowd, her arms extended, when Kirra emerged.

"Mamma!" the girl cried and Kirra gave her up gratefully.

"Thank you," the woman said.

Breathless, Kirra swallowed. "You're welcome, but I have to go back."

"You can't! They'll kill you."

The woman grabbed her arm, but Kirra pulled from her grasp. "No, I have to go back for Hercules."

Kirra dashed into the grove, relishing the cool breeze under the shade of the trees. It did not last for long. She made it to the open clearing and the beating of the afternoon sun. Flames had already decimated one wagon filled with grain. Tent-dwellings had either collapsed or burned, but the village was salvageable. The people could return to their lives. But what of Hercules?

Kirra had come to his rescue, her satchel of Alcmene's homemade weaponry at the ready, but Hercules clearly needed no rescue. The fight couldn't have lasted but minutes and yet Hercules alone stood in the clearing, the victor in a lone battle against eight heavily armored soldiers. Only two of their band was left. One he smashed against the side of the ballista while the other moved to cower like the little girl had under its wheel.

Figuring it was safe to venture forth, Kirra approached as Hercules was grabbing the cowering soldier and lifting him to his feet.

"Please, don't kill me!"

Kirra couldn't believe it. The soldier was terrified of him. But who could blame him. Even she felt a mite fearful of the indignation she saw burning in the half-god.

Breathing heavily from the fight, Hercules jerked the soldier closer. Either he didn't hear the fear in his voice or he didn't care. "Whose crossbow is this?"

There was determination in Hercules to get his answers, but there was also anger and Kirra could appreciate it after what she had witnessed. He cared so much for the mortals he shared this earth with that he put his own life and limb at risk to keep them safe. His altruistic nature was what drew her to the idea of him in the first place, and it's what made her dare to speak in his behalf.

"Do you know who you're speaking to?"

Hercules and the soldier both turned to her in surprise.

"This is Hercules. I would suggest you tell him what he wants to know."

The soldier's fearful eyes jumped from her to the man who held him in a death-grip. He quickly spoke up.

"Daedalus. He—he—he's the one."

With that one name, Hercules's whole demeanor changed. Despondency replaced the indignation. He hadn't believed Kirra when she relayed the scribe's story of Daedalus and his son. He was certain the Daedalus he knew would not invent weapons of death and destruction. The truth of the matter was now laid bare before him and he couldn't turn a blind eye to it.

He released the weak-legged soldier as if he'd had no hold of him, dropped him to the ground and walked away in silence. At Kirra's feet, the soldier gasped in relief. This side of Hercules was new, and it frightened her.

* * *

Hours later, the villagers were safe and the soldiers had dispersed. Hercules had seen to it. After the beating the soldiers took, they scattered back to wherever they had come from.

That was the question, wasn't it. Where had they come from? The answer, given freely by the frightened soldier, was obvious. The capital city of Euboea, where Daedalus was said to dwell making weapons for the King. Kirra bemoaned the idea of another overzealous King. Why couldn't they take a lesson from Jason? Greece would be a much better place to live if they did. But such was not the way in life.

Chalcis was not far away. They could have made it before sunset had they left right away. Hercules, however, had other ideas in mind. He surprised her at every turn. Even with the emotions warring within him, he had chosen to stay and help the villagers restore their homes. He could have decided to leave the villagers to their problems in order to get to his friend as quickly as possible. In fact, she thought he would. Instead, he helped them to dismantle the ballista and explained to them how they could best use the parts to their advantage.

They could have been on the road within an hour of the battle, but their feet did not hit the path to the capital city until the sun had disappeared behind the treetops. And again, silence fell between them.

Kirra understood Hercules's need for silence, but it did not qualm her unease with it. She couldn't help herself. She had to know what fears or worries were hanging over his head.

With the sun setting, his face was swathed in shadows, making it hard to read him. She looked up at him for so long he eventually looked back.

"What?" he asked.

"Are you all right?"

He nodded and turned back to the road. "I'm fine. Why do you ask?"

"Because I—" Kirra averted her eyes to the darkness of the trees surrounding them. "—I worry about you."

" _You_ worry about _me_? Why?"

She heard the smile in the timbre of his voice, but she could not look back at him. "I always worry about you." She said it softer than a whisper. Did he hear her? If he did, he did not reply. Nor would she give him a chance to. "I've never seen you so angry before."

He sighed. "I had good reason to be. They were innocent people. If anyone is looking to get under my skin, that's the way to do it."

"A good war strategist might see that as a sign of weakness he could exploit."

Hercules nodded once. "Possibly, and there's every possibility the King of Euboea is doing exactly that. Doesn't mean he's going to stop me."

Kirra attempted to gauge his emotions and saw nothing but the set of his jaw. She didn't need to look further. "Do you still doubt your friend Daedalus built the ballista?"

Hercules did not at first respond, but when he did, it was without eye contact. "I don't know. The person who designed it is not the Daedalus I used to know."

"I've read much on Daedalus. Granted, I don't know him as well as you do, but according to legend, he is a master craftsman accredited with inventing the compass and the potter's wheel! He's build temples, aqueducts, the Palace of Knossos. It's even said he's built sculptures so lifelike people actually think they're real."

A half-smile touched Hercules's lips. "I've seen one up close. In fact, that's the day I first met Daedalus. I was just out of the Academy when I happened upon one of his sculptures in Crete. A sea serpent, and you're right, it was so lifelike I thought it was real."

"And?"

"And I attacked it."

Kirra laughed, bringing a smile to Hercules's face.

"The sculpture sat dockside and…" he continued. "Well, let's just say the serpent and I both ended up at the bottom of the sea."

Kirra held a hand over her mouth to stifle her laughter. "Hard to believe the two of you became friends."

"Well, it wasn't a pleasant first meeting," he said with a quiet laughter of his own. "But I helped him out in his workshop for several months to help him forget that his prized sculpture now lay at the bottom of the Sea of Crete, and got him out of a few scrapes with King Minos. Daedalus and I did eventually become friends." Hercules's reminiscing was over. Now he shook his head. "I've seen his designs, Kirra. _I helped him build them_. I'm still not sure he designed that contraption. What if the soldier lied?"

It cut her to the heart to see him this way, but she hadn't any idea how to lift his spirits. "It's possible, I guess, but if your friend isn't the one who built the ballista, who could it have been?"

"I intend to find out."

Kirra sighed. "Hercules, I'm not one who listens freely to rumor, and there's even the possibility my traveling companion had her facts wrong as you say. But … when you lay the facts out, they're hard to ignore."

The entrance to the city of Chalcis finally loomed before them out of the treetops, and Kirra was grateful to put their conversation on hold. Despite his faith in his friend, Hercules was clearly beginning to lose hope. There was nothing else she could say to lessen his worries, so she said nothing. She let Hercules increase his pace without attempting to slow him or run to catch up. He needed the space.

* * *

 **I had kept close to the original in the first few chapters, so if it seems almost a repeat of "Doomsday" I apologize. I wrote this episode some time ago. Then, I decided I didn't want to mimic it. The story needed to be its own. In the next chapter, you'll see the story begins to deviate from the original, making it more of a Kirra story. But again, the original episode is the framework.**

 **Siampie, thank you for your reviews!**


	4. Chapter 4

_**Kirra's Journey**_

 **Episode 3 – Outsider Looking In  
**

* * *

 _Chapter 4_

Night had fallen by the time they reached Chalcis. In scope and size, the capital city of Euboea was nothing compared to Corinth, but it had a unique majesty. This Kirra could tell even in the darkness of night. Its high stone parapets and gate helped to wall a city situated upon the slope of a hill. Kirra knew little of Euboea. She did not know if the distant hill possessed a name, but if she could name it, she would have called it the Mountain of Light. Lighted roadways twined their way up the hillside, and even at this distance, she could see lamplight flickering in the open windows of nestled homes. She was eager for the light of day to explore.

That would not be easy, however. An impassable door and several armed guards barred their way into Chalcis. Their armor was eerily similar to the ones the soldiers wore when they attacked the village some miles back. Kirra and Hercules weren't the only ones wanting to get in. People milled about outside the arched gateway or huddled around campfires. There were wagons towed by oxen with goods to trade. Makeshift huts dotted the landscape around the gate. What were the people waiting for?

As she and Hercules approached the gate, the guards took notice of them. Kirra knew the likelihood of running into more armored guards was high. Yet, here she was, grasping Hercules's arm like a frightened little girl. How ridiculous she must look!

"Um, I don't think they're going to let us in."

"Don't worry. Let me do the talking."

These were not the same guards as had attacked the village. They could not know the son of Zeus was approaching their station. Still, as brainless brawns are wont to do, they puffed out their chests and straightened their backs, hoping to make themselves as impenetrable as the stones walls they protected. Their faces were just as uninviting.

"You'll have no argument from me on that one," Kirra said, cowering in his shadow.

The guards' presence did not intimidate Hercules. He moved toward them bravely, and pensively withstood the lead guard's halting hand.

The guard spoke with a rough voice that told of one too many years inhaling the smoke of pipe-weed. "Where do you think you're going?"

"To see a friend." Hercules wasted no time getting down to business, yet his voice remained cordial. "I was told Daedalus the inventor resided here in Chalcis. Is that true?"

The guards darted glances at one another, surprised. Kirra could not understand why. Clearly, they knew of whom Hercules was asking and yet they were attempting to conceal the truth.

The lead guard shook his head. "Never heard of him. Now, move along."

Kirra scoffed, losing her fear in the face of their blatant disrespect. "Never heard of him? The most famous inventor to ever have traveled the known world and you don't know who he is. Who do you think you're kidding?"

"Kirra…" Hercules began, placing a hand around her wrist. He well remembered how easily her mouth could get her into trouble and hoped to save himself any of that this go-round.

"Yes?"

"Hush."

"Yes. Sorry." Put in her place, Kirra felt as small as a bug. Inside, though, she was screaming and it came out in a petulant whisper to Hercules. "They're not fooling anyone, Hercules. They know he's here."

Hercules reiterated in a similar whisper, "Let me do the talking."

With a sigh, Kirra bit her tongue. Was Hercules being ignorant, or was he purposely allowing these buffoons to make a fool of him?

"I'm not gonna say it again," the lead guard said, taking a step closer to Hercules. "Move along. No one enters without the King's permission."

Hercules could see himself crossing his arms, not backing down and demanding to see the King. Then, as the desire to do so rose, he quelled it and nodded in compliance. What good would it do his friend if he forced his way into the city? It would be counterproductive, at best, and would only lead to trouble for Daedalus, who clearly lived within these walls. He needed to come up with another idea, one which didn't involve all of Chalcis knowing of his presence.

"What are you doing?" Kirra vehemently whispered in his ear, or as close as she could come to it. She stood no taller than his shoulder.

She did not share Hercules's sentiment. His acquiescent nod merely stirred Kirra's fire. She looked at the lead guard with such contempt it would have unnerved the King.

"Do you have any idea who you're talking to? This is Hercules! You cannot deny him entrance!"

The response to her tirade? The guards laughed in unison.

"Hercules, huh?" one of them asked with a chuckled.

Hercules could have responded with a tightlipped smile, showed offense at their laughter, but the result would be a tipping of the hand. Hence, he played along and laughed with the guards, leaving Kirra completely flummoxed.

"Yeah, Hercules. That's me." He took Kirra's arm and began walking away. "Don't mind her. She turns into a diva when she hasn't eaten. We'll be right back."

The guards continued laughing as they slipped into the shadows. "That's right! Keep walking, _Hercules_!"

Kirra's first indication she had irritated Hercules was the tightness of his grip around her wrist, but the fight had not yet gone out of her. She looked back only to see the guards continuing to have a good laugh at their expense.

"Hercules, what is wrong with you?"

This was outrageous! Why on Zeus's green earth would he back down to a couple of soldiers she knew he could best in seconds? After the beating several of their kind endured earlier in the day, she was surprised they even dared be disrespectful. Yet, Hercules did nothing. They continued to laugh in the distance.

Hercules was leading her in a brisk walk around the side of the city walls, but Kirra wouldn't have noticed. "A diva? Seriously! Could you be more insulting! And how could you let them treat you that way?"

Only when they had gotten past eyesight (and earshot) of the guards did Hercules release her arm. Kirra rubbed her forearm. It hurt, but he hadn't left a mark. Hercules was not her stepfather.

It was only then she noticed where they were, far from the light of campfires and the sight of guards. They stood in a flooding pool of moonlight along the towering walls of Chalcis. Hercules had become quite involved in the peculiar task of searching for something in the dark, from the ground beneath their feet to the city walls above them.

Kirra crossed her arms. "Why didn't you teach those cretins a lesson?"

He turned to her with a gesture to keep her voice down. "Because, they're not from Crete."

Kirra smirked, though the expression was lost on Hercules, for his eyes were again on the city walls. "Not funny," she whispered.

Busy calculating whether or not his plan would work, Hercules stopped. He was not one to let a lesson go untaught. "Yes, there were only four at the gate, and yes, I could have taken them, but sometimes, Kirra, you have to choose the right time to stand your ground. That wasn't it." Hercules turned away from her frustration and resumed his calculations. "Besides, I know Nikolos. There'll be a hundred more inside."

"The King?"

"Yes."

"You know him. How?"

"Long story."

Kirra huffed and turned away, thinking of the lost scroll of songs she had written long before she ever met Hercules. She had based them on Hercules's many battles. The accounts of him taking on more than his fare share of villains had inspired her lyrics. Whatever his past with Euboea's king, it wasn't an explanation for why he allowed them to be humiliated.

"Your modesty doesn't work with me, Hercules," Kirra scolded.

Hercules once again pulled his thoughts away from his task. "There are times, Kirra, when I also have to make the choice to back away. I wouldn't want anyone getting hurt needlessly." He lightly brushed his knuckles across her cheek. "Especially you."

Kirra lowered her eyes self-consciously, her cheek where his knuckles grazed burning. During the time she spent with Alcmene and Jason, she had allowed herself to move past the girlish crush she had developed for Hercules. One small move on Hercules's part and those feelings came rushing back. It was foolish to even entertain the notion. He was Hercules, busy roaming about Greece helping the helpless. A silly girl and her childish romantic crush were far from his concern.

Barely a second later, and proving Kirra's assumption true, Hercules found what he really wanted … a rope. There it lay on a busted two-wheeled cart someone had abandoned outside the city, or perhaps he or she had no choice but to abandon it. Kirra imagined guards tossing it over the side of the wall. Though, she would have imagined anything at this point to stifle her juvenile thoughts.

Awkwardly fiddling with the satchel on her arm, Kirra asked, "So, what are you going to do?"

No such worry seemed to weigh on the mind of Hercules. "Since they won't let us in through the gate, I'm going in over the wall."

Kirra looked up, her eyes following the length of the wall to its full height. Perhaps it was the effect of the moonlit sky, but it seemed nauseatingly high. On the other hand, it might be the two darkened figures up there standing guard. She looked back at Hercules suspiciously, and then at the weather-beaten rope in his hands. "Are you sure that's a good idea?"

Gauging the distance, Hercules prepared to sling the rope. "Yep. Now stay put."

"But Hercules, wait…"

"What?"

Kirra mustered her courage under his scrutiny. "You do mean _we're_ going over the wall? Right?"

"Kirra," Hercules began. "I think you would be safer—"

Kirra knew what he would say before he said it. She huffed. "Over the last several days, I've heard plenty about what is and is not safe for me. I'm quite capable of taking care of myself. Besides, if the guards spot me here without you, they'll realize something is going on and sound the alarm."

Hercules bounced the rope testily in his hand, dismayed at her logic. "You've got a point."

The rope continued to bounce while he thought of the best way to handle the situation. Not knowing what he might encounter once he crossed the wall made him nervous to bring her along. Considering what he knew of King Nikolos, she wouldn't be safe in Chalcis. Then again, she wasn't exactly safe outside of Chalcis either. If worse came to worst, Daedalus being the man he was would help take care of her if Hercules had a situation to deal with. Of course, that depended on if Daedalus was still the man Hercules used to know.

With an uncertain sigh, Hercules turned to Kirra. "Okay, but you do what I say when I say, and don't deviate from the plan."

"What's the plan?"

He shrugged his shoulders. "I don't know yet."

Staring up at the two figures moving along the parapet, Hercules realized his first idea wasn't going to work. He had intended to swing the rope, build up momentum, and before he let go, he would yell to the guards above. This would invariably catch their attention, forcing them to peer curiously over the wall. If he timed it right, the lasso would land perfectly and wrap the two in its grip. Once he yanked them from their post, he could use their combined weight as a pulley system with the help of the flagpole positioned under them. He would sail almost as if he had the wings of Nemesis to the top of the parapet and gain entrance to the capital city of Euboea. But toting Kirra would alter the weight distribution. He had to come up with another idea.

Kirra cleared her throat. "In Endor, we have a lot of farm land, and farm land means you need cattle to help plow the fields. I used to watch the farmhands learning how to lasso young bulls. It was hours of endless fun."

"And your point?"

She smirked. "You could tie the end of your rope and use it as a lasso to catch the flagpole above us. I'll hold onto you and you'll pull us up."

Hercules raised his eyebrows. "That's actually not a bad idea."

"Thank you."

A sly grin pulled at his lips. "Question is will the rope be able to handle the extra weight?"

Were it not for the presence of the guards above them, Kirra would have given his exposed bicep a hearty smack with the palm of her hand. She settled for a kick to the calf.

"Ow," Hercules said with a pained chuckle.

"A bit of Iolaus has rubbed off on you, I think."

"Well, we did grow up together."

"A pity."

Hercules tied the end of the rope into a loose noose. "Ready?"

"As I'll ever be." Her idea was good. Hercules said as much. So, why did she feel anxious?

She watched Hercules swing the rope in his hand as well as any farm boy. He gave it a silent toss into the air and it snagged the flagpole on the first try.

"Impressive."

Hercules dropped to a half-squat. "Wrap your arms around my neck."

Kirra did as he bid. As soon as she latched on, Hercules began a quick hand over hand up the rope while his feet kept his balance on the wall's surface. Kirra wouldn't have known this for her eyes had snapped shut. She knew now where her anxiety lay. Her feet had left the ground. They were floating in mid-air, and a sickening sensation had taken up residence in her gut. It was the proof she needed. She was afraid of heights.

As they climbed higher and higher, she fought hard against losing the lunch she had shared with Hercules on the road. She made herself concentrate on the smell of his hair and the movement of the muscles in his back against her torso. The comfort of his strength lessened her fear. He wouldn't let her fall.

Lost in her reverie of him, Kirra barely heard his whispered "Excuse me." But she did hear the shuffle of feet upon the parapet, a surprised intake of breath and the sound of a fist solidly meeting its mark. This happened so quickly, Kirra didn't know they were on solid ground until the tips of her toes found their footing and Hercules fought to unlatch her fingers from around his neck. One guard lay unconscious at her feet and the other he dispatched in time for her wobbly legs to collapse beneath her.

When she could center her fear-fogged head, Kirra found herself on the stone floor of the parapet face to face with the unconscious guard. Only moments before, they had been at the base of the wall. Now, they were atop it. A Herculean feat of gargantuan proportions and she had missed it. What a fool!

She backed away from the lifeless guard and nearly screamed when a hand took her arm.

"It's me," came his whisper.

Concealing a sigh, Hercules helped her to her feet. "Is this what you call 'taking care of yourself'?"

Though winded, Kirra wasn't so incapacitated she couldn't rebuke Hercules with a glare. "I'll be alright. Just give me a moment."

"Make it a quick moment. We can't stay here long." Hercules moved to drag the unconscious guards into a darkened corner.

"Will they be okay?" she asked when he returned.

"Yeah," he whispered, keeping his eyes peeled for more soldiers. "They'll wake up with a headache in a while and be too embarrassed they were bested to say a word to anyone. Let's keep moving."

Hercules wasted no time. He took her hand and he led her toward the parapet's stone staircase and down to the streets below. By his demeanor, they were far from free to pretend they were normal citizens. His senses were on full alert.

They hadn't made it far down the stairs before he plastered himself against the shadow-darkened wall, his right arm pinning her there as well. She knew better than to ask. Two guards with spears passed the open well on the streets below, their feet marching in tandem. Only when they were out of earshot did Hercules take her hand again and lead her down the rest of the way.

They emerged onto the darkened and quiet city streets of Chalcis. It was early evening. The sun had only set an hour ago, but to Kirra's eyes, the streets were deserted. Banners fluttered in the alleyways and wooden shop signs creaked on their hinges. If there were people here (and by the lights she'd seen earlier, there were), they were now indoors.

"Move!"

Hercules didn't have to tell her why. Another set of marching feet sounded in the distance. He moved her away from the light of torch lamps, his insistent hands at her back. Kirra could hardly follow their route from one end of the street to the other before she found herself crouched behind a gathering of barrels. Instinctively, she knew she was alone. Hercules must have ducked into another hiding place, for she could not see him lost in the shadows as she was. Thus, she waited, as they had in the stairwell, for the sound of the approaching guards to come and go, and glared at their armor-clad backs as they passed. If one were to look back, would they see her crouched in the darkness?

The question played like dark music in her ears until they rounded the corner out of sight. Kirra released a silent sigh of relief.

"Hercules?" she whispered. Where had he gone? "Hercules…"

She tried to wait. Seconds dragged into minutes. Was he somewhere he couldn't hear her? Had he picked the wrong place to hide and been cornered by guards? Had he been captured? Kirra's rising fear was ready to voice itself when her eyes caught movement at the far end of the street. It was a person, all right. In the torch light, she thought she saw a hint of yellow. It had to be Hercules.

Kirra rose from her position and made for edge of the street—

And there she froze. Her body went as cold as the brackish lake near Endor which sometimes froze over in winter. It used to be a freshwater lake, full of fish and purple-colored lilies in the springtime, until the people began to use it as a refuse bin. She used to love the lake. Now it was an eerie, lifeless bog that stunk of garbage and bred nothing but slime and flies. The very sight of it would chill her to the bone much as she was now, her feet frozen to the cobblestoned floor. She could not move even if she wanted to.

The figure she saw, the glimpse of yellow … was not Hercules. Under the flaming light of a torch lamp, he revealed himself. He was no different than she remembered. Spiteful, full of hate and ale, and stained with the color of his profession.

He took a step forward out of the light and in one split second, the night turned to day, bright golden yellow as if the sun had climbed to the center of the sky. The night returned as quickly, and the sun became a plume of smoke and fire towering over the city. It dissipated and the smoke blended with the night. No earth-shaking explosion followed the display. No shockwave to flatten buildings or break glass, and no one in the vicinity poked their heads out of doors or windows to see what had happened. There was nothing to mask the sound of Kirra's ear-shattering scream. It lit up the night with more force and reverberation than any explosion, and the patter of many armored feet promptly followed.

"Kirra!"

Harshly whispered was the call, but there was no mistaking the voice of Hercules. She felt his urgent hands on her arms before she saw him. Her eyes were fixated upon the torch lamp across the street and the empty space of cobbled sidewalk it illuminated.

Hercules pulled her into a darkened alleyway where the only sound was their heavy breathing and the squeak of rats. They found a hiding spot behind a stack of firewood and tried their best to breathe through their noses. Soldiers now stood center of the street, where Kirra stood moments before frozen in place.

"You sure you heard a scream?" one asked another.

"Yeah! As if you didn't. I thought someone was getting murdered over here!"

Two more soldiers appeared. "What happened?"

"Don't know. We heard a scream and came to investigate."

"Eeehhh," he said, waving a dismissive hand at the first two. "Probably some old lady reacting to the fire. Get back to your posts!"

"Yes, sir."

The soldiers dispersed and Kirra dropped her forehead on Hercules's shoulder.

"Are you okay?" he asked.

Kirra nodded, but didn't speak. Her heart was beating far too fast for speech.

"You're trembling. What happened?"

"Fire…" she breathed.

"I saw the fire, too. But that's not what scared you. What did you see?"

Kirra shook her head and Hercules sighed. They couldn't stay here. If he was to get her someplace safe, they had to get out of this area.

"Okay, we'll talk about it later. Can you stand?"

"Yes."

"Then, let's move."

"Where are we going?"

"I found us a place to stay for the night. Come on."

Hercules pulled Kirra to her feet and led her down the alleyway. Fear clouded her thoughts and it was hard for her to follow his movements. Thank the gods for the grip of his hand for she would surely have gotten lost on her own. The idea of getting lost in this place after what she had seen was not a pleasant thought.

Hercules cut across the next street and down another alleyway.

No, she couldn't have seen him. It had to have been a trick of light, a figment of her imagination. She had been afraid, alone and in the dark as she used to spend many nights alone in the closet listening to her mother scream and cry. She had imagined it. It wasn't real. Fear had a way of making your worst nightmare seem tangible, especially in the dark.

Hercules had led her to a single door down the far end of the third street lit by a fluttering torch. The street was empty. A wooden sign hung above it stamped with these letters:

 _ξύλινο κουτάλι._ The Wooden Spoon.

An inn! Kirra might have collapsed with relief were it not for Hercules.

The door didn't open on the first knock. No wonder considering the lack of force Hercules put behind his rap of knuckles. It took several tries before a crack opened in the doorway.

"Yes?" said a scraggly voice.

"Do you have vacancies?"

"Whachya doing out past curfew?"

Hercules frowned. "We're not from here. We didn't know there was a curfew. Can you please offer us shelter?"

The door opened wider and a weather beaten face appeared to glance up the street. The proprietor was a woman of about sixty with skin as wrinkled and rippled as leather. She looked them both up and down, distrust muddling her features. She seemed to be weighing the cost of taking in law-breakers, but then she opened her door wide and waved them in.

"Come on, come on, before the baddies spot ya."

They entered upon a small living room heated by a hearth. Its warm flickering flame lit the room in a soft glow. Despite the wretched old woman, Kirra felt instantly at ease. They were off the street and away from the threat of soldiers, and other imagined enemies. Freshly baked bread filled her nostrils with a heady scent, making her stomach growl. She imagined herself back in Alcmene's home helping her ready dinner. How stupid she was to have walked away from the comfort of their home! What was she thinking?

Kirra looked down at the hand in hers, then up at the face of its master. She smiled inwardly. _Oh, yes. For what other reason would one walk heedlessly from one's home?_

"Now, let's talk coin," the old woman said. She rounded them and went behind a battered desk to snatch up a scroll. She dabbed a quill in ink and poised it over the parchment. "I've got a couple of rooms. Some better than others."

"How much?" Hercules asked.

She looked up at them with a gap-toothed grin. "One room or two?"

"One."

Kirra's heart gave a jolt.

"Number of beds?"

She told herself it was the smell of fresh bread making her lightheaded, not her anticipation at his answer to the question.

"Two," Hercules answered with a smirk. "This is my daughter."

"Uh-huh," the proprietor said.

"How much?" he asked impatiently. As if an afterthought, he added, "And how much for the bread?"

The woman named her price and Hercules produced his money. It surprised Kirra to see him pull dinars out of an indiscernible pocket in his leather pants. She'd wondered if he had any money. She had a pouch of coins in her satchel she hadn't told him about yet. A loaner from Jason surreptitiously slipped in out of Alcmene's sight.

"For food," he'd told her. "Or if you find yourself in a bind."

Jason had said the latter with a level-eyed gaze and she'd known exactly what he meant. The money was in case she needed to bribe her way out of trouble. She'd not had any trouble until tonight, and so far, she had no reason to use her money. She hoped not to. If she could repay Jason, she would. There was no reason to tell Hercules about it unless she had to.

The old woman led them without any further questions up one flight of stairs to the second level. There, by candle light, she introduced them to the sparsely furnished room in which they would be spending the night. There were two beds, one on either side of the room and a nightstand beneath the only window. She placed the candle there and said she would return with their meal.

While they waited, Hercules peered out the window into the night and Kirra tested out the bed she had claimed. It was lumpy, but it was a bed. One night on the cold, hard ground was sufficient. She just hoped she could sleep.

"I wonder what the fire was," she said to him to put an end to the silence.

"You noticed no one reacted to it?"

Kirra nodded. _No one but me,_ she thought. Hercules could have said so, but he didn't and she was grateful. She didn't want to talk about it.

"The curfew, too," she added. "What do you think that's about?"

"If I could guess, I'd say it has something to do with what we saw tonight. It wasn't an explosion. Nothing caught fire. It was there one second and gone the next."

"Do you think it could have something to do with Daedalus?"

Hercules bowed his head. "I hope not."

A knock on the door and the old woman reappeared with a tray in her hands. Atop it sat a round loaf, a pitcher and two mugs. She then left without a word, no mention of a 'goodnight' or 'enjoy your meal.' Hercules wondered how she made enough coin to stay in business. His answer came when Kirra broke the bread between them. It was warm and sweet and melted in their mouths like butter. The old woman's charm was not in her personality, but her talent with the oven.

Sitting on the edge of the same bed, the two of them ate their meal in silence. The only sound being their mumbles of enjoyment. When they were finished, Kirra collected their dishes and set them on the tray outside the door. She turned to find Hercules reclining in the bed she had chosen.

"After a day like today," he began, patting his belly, "that certainly hit the spot. I don't think even mother makes bread that good."

"I'd have to agree with you." She smiled. "Your daughter?"

Hercules hid a yawn and sat up. "Better than her thinking otherwise," he said with a nod toward the door, indicating the old woman.

"I think she already does. Besides, I'm not young enough to be your daughter."

"Sure you are." Hercules got to his feet and nodded toward the bed he'd vacated. "Let's get some sleep."

He crossed the room to the other bed and made himself comfortable in it, not seeing the downtrodden look upon Kirra's face. _Was I so wantonly obvious?_ she wondered. She stamped the thought out before it had time to root and blossom. No, certainly not. He had merely responded honestly to a comment made in error. She _was_ young enough to be his daughter.

Kirra sat on the bed and began removing her boots. "So, what's the plan for tomorrow?"

"To find Daedalus," Hercules said with his eyes closed. "To find out what's going on."

Behind his lids, his mind conjured the flames that had shot into the air, turning night to day. What could it have been? He could think of nothing but its golden light and the scream that had followed it; Kirra's scream. Hercules opened his eyes and looked at her. She had doffed her boots, slid them under the bed along with her satchel and climbed beneath the thin blankets.

"Why did you scream?"

She didn't look at him, preferring to stare at the ceiling. "I saw—I thought I saw something … someone."

"Who?" he asked when she didn't continue.

Her breath came shallow. Kirra could hardly speak it. "Him … Hiram."

Hercules sat up. "Your stepfather?"

"Yes."

"Are you sure? Endor is a long way from Euboea. Why would he leave?"

Kirra shook her head in the darkness. "He didn't. It wasn't him."

"But you said you saw him. How can you know for sure?"

"I _thought_ I saw him. I didn't know where you were and I was afraid. I must have imagined him."

"Maybe in the morning, we could ask around. We should be sure."

"I am sure, Hercules. It wasn't him. It would be impossible."

"What makes you say that?"

Silence from her side of the room. Hercules waited an interminable number of seconds (they moved as slowly as minutes) for her answer. He was ready to ask his question again when her voice came to him as cold as the grave.

"Because he's dead." She turned to face the wall. "Goodnight, Hercules."

* * *

 **I've tried to use the real topography of Euboea in this story. While there are no ancient ruins from which to draw inspiration, I was able to read much about its ancient history. Mixed with the imagery from the original episode, I hope it has helped to flavor the feel of it's capital city, Chalcis.**

 **The original episode never really delved into the history between Hercules and Nikolos. I found it pretty vague and not enough to work with. In the next chapter, you'll notice I've altered their history a bit. With a little help from real Greek history, and a bit of bending on the original idea, I think I came up with a pretty good backstory.**


	5. Chapter 5

_**Kirra's Journey**_

 **Episode 3 – Outsider Looking In**

* * *

 _Chapter 5_

Kirra awoke with the muted light of day coming through the bare window. Where the night had been clear and full of stars, the morning was overcast. She wondered if rain was on the way and she wondered about the people of Nesimus. Was an overcast morning an ominous sign for them?

Kirra turned to lie on her back and looked across the room. She was alone. The bed Hercules had occupied was empty. She had slept far better than she thought she would for she never heard him leave.

She had no fear that he had left her. Perhaps, not wanting to wake her, he had gone for breakfast or to ask a few questions. Today, at least, they could act as normal citizens of Chalcis and move freely about the city without fear of punishment.

Getting out of bed, Kirra reached for the satchel underneath. She had a fresh change of clothes Alcmene had been kind enough to pack for her. Thankfully, it wasn't of Corinthian design. This dress was practical, the one she should have worn the day she walked out of Alcmene's door. It was not made of fine silks or braided tassels, but a combination of linen and wool. It might be a tad warm for the season, but the sun wasn't out today, and she wouldn't have to worry about looking like a street urchin in her ruined blue dress anymore.

She waited to hear the sound of footsteps near the door. When it seemed quiet, she quickly removed the dirty blue dress, tossed it onto the bed and pulled the clean but plainly colored dress over her head. _I would give anything for a tub of hot water,_ she thought as she donned her boots and stuffed the old dress into the satchel.

Pushing her dreams of a bath aside, Kirra went downstairs to the small living area (where a couple of guests were eating breakfast) in time to see Hercules walking in.

"Kirra," he called when he saw her. He met her at the base of the stairs, looking windblown this overcast morning. "Have you had breakfast?"

"No," she answered. "I've only just awoke."

Hercules pulled at one of her errant curls. "I can see that," he said with a smile.

She took the curl from his grasp and tried to set it in place as best she could. She had no brush to tame their unruliness. "I didn't ask for them. I was born with them."

Hercules laughed. "Let's get you something to eat. We need to get moving." He lowered his voice to add, "I think I may have found Daedalus's laboratory. It's suspiciously in the direction of the fireball we saw last night."

"Are you sure it's him?"

"Not sure yet, but we're about to find out."

* * *

After a quick biscuit with peach marmalade, the two were briskly walking the streets of Chalcis. The capital city was bigger than she had thought the night before. Light of day revealed its enormity.

Euboea was but an island in the Aegean Sea with the mainland of Greece to its southwest. Its heart was Chalcis, perched conspicuously on its western face, a bridge between Euboea and Greece. Chalcis was not merely a city of cobbled streets and stone and mortar buildings. Though walls surrounded it on all sides but the sea, there was farmland, groves of olive trees and a wide expanse of country with dirt roads that led into a forest of chestnut trees. Looking east, one saw the slope of the hill (the one Kirra called the Mountain of Light), and a white-capped Mount Dirfi in the distance.

Hercules led her out of the city dwellings and into the industrial side of Chalcis, where blacksmiths and woodworkers and tanners made their living. Here the roads were feet- and hoof-pounded earth, and the smell of tar and horse manure filled the air. It was the lair of hardworking men who toiled to make a living for their families. This was not the place for eighteen-year-old girls trudging after their heroes, unless she was looking for work in one of the taverns round about.

Kirra was not. She kept close to Hercules.

"Did you find out anything about the curfew?" she asked as they passed one of the many blacksmith shops. She asked partly out of curiosity and partly because she didn't want Hercules to take notice of how earnestly she stared into these shops, her eyes searching and finding nothing.

"Only that it's put into place a few nights each week. During the day, people are able to come and go out of the city as they want. We came at the wrong time last night."

"You mean, if we'd waited 'til morning, we would have had no problem getting into Chalcis?"

"Yep," he said without an ounce of shame.

"Then why did we scale the wall?"

"Because, I didn't want to wait."

"And yet we waited anyway."

Hercules shrugged his shoulders. "Hard to see the unforeseen."

"And patience is a virtue…"

She had barely finished her complaint when Hercules grasped her upper arm and pulled her to the side in the shade of a stable's awning. He pointed to an elongated wood-planked building with a thatched roof.

"There. I think that's the laboratory."

Kirra saw nothing special about it. "It's no different from any of the other shops in the area. What makes you think it's the laboratory?"

His pointed finger went higher. There on the roof, a rectangular metal flue stuck out above the straw. Black smoke billowed from it. Why hadn't she noticed it before? Probably because the other shops that dealt with smoke and heat were open to the fresh air, where the byproducts of their profession had a place to escape. The building before them was enclosed, and there were guards posted on either side of the entrance.

"Whatever's going on in there, they don't want any prying eyes."

"So, what do we do? Go over and ask for Daedalus?"

Hercules shook his head. "We wait and see if he makes an appearance."

"And if he doesn't?"

"If he's here, we'll see him. As much as he loves working in his laboratory, Daedalus was always one to appreciate the fresh air. He used to sculpt in the shade of trees."

He said the later with a hint of remorse. Kirra felt for him. He could no longer hide the truth. If he didn't think Daedalus was here, he wouldn't waste his time standing for only the gods knew how long waiting for him to appear.

She touched his hand. "I'm sorry, Hercules."

He showed a pained smile. "I just want to know why."

They didn't have to wait long. A boom sounded from within the building and the smoke pouring from the flue thickened and plumed, this time without its golden light of flame. The few pedestrians on the road hurried past, looking back at the smoke with fear. It wasn't long before the double doors swung open to emit another plume of smoke and a rabble of coughing men. Kirra knew they had found Daedalus when she felt Hercules stiffen beside her.

"Which one is he?"

"The older one. White hair."

Hercules didn't wait for her to find him in the small crowd of people. He moved quickly, leaving her behind. He headed straight for a man with long white hair, a yellowing smock and a multicolored apron. Kirra jogged to keep up.

"Daedalus!" Hercules called.

The old man looked around, spotting Hercules with a stunned look of surprise. _"Hercules."_

If there was one thing Kirra prided herself in, it was her keen eyes. All children are highly perceptive, but Kirra felt she had an advantage growing up, a kind of training other children did not possess. Living with Hiram, she had learned to sense a change in his moods by honing into his inflections, by watching his facial expressions or by something as simple as listening to the sound of footsteps outside her bedroom door. This had heightened her perceptive abilities. Granted, she didn't see herself as powerful or god-like, she couldn't predict the future, but she knew how to "see" and how to "listen."

It's why, she would tell herself later, her eyes gravitated to one of the other men who'd come stumbling out of the building with Daedalus; a skinny guy with a face as thin and pointed as a hawk's. He was paying particular attention to their conversation while he coughed smoke out of his lungs. When Daedalus spoke the name of his old friend, Kirra watched the hawk-faced man mouth the words, "Oh no." He never saw her watching him, and within seconds, he had disappeared around the corner. Kirra had a bad feeling they were going to see him again before too long.

The sound of Hercules's voice pulled her eyes away from where the hawk-faced man had disappeared. "Are you all right?" he was asking Daedalus. "What happened?"

From his final words with her before the boom in Daedalus's laboratory, Kirra had thought Hercules indifferent, even angry, but she was far from the truth. She heard real concern in the tone of his voice. He was worried about his friend. But it wasn't all she noted.

Hercules moved to skirt around Daedalus and enter the building behind him. Whether Hercules did this out of curiosity or his inherent need to help those who might be hurt inside, Kirra didn't know. She could not read his motive, but she could easily sense the motive behind Daedalus's reaction. For an old man, he was spry. His hasty feet were quick to block Hercules from entering the building.

"Don't worry," he said, his left hand firmly gripping Hercules's belt. "It's a small chemical fire. Nothing my assistants can't handle."

 _What are you hiding in there, old man?_ Kirra wondered.

As Daedalus led Hercules away from the laboratory, she attempted to approach the door and peer through the smoke. A soldier with a hideous scar on his face stepped from the darkened entryway, spear in hand. Another soldier followed close behind, shutting the laboratory's doors, but her eyes had firmly fastened upon the one with the scar. The look in his eyes told her she'd best turn around. Kirra did. She walked away, feeling uncomfortable under his glare, and caught the tail end of Hercules and Daedalus's conversation.

"So, Hercules, what brings you to Euboea?" That was no mere question of curiosity. Kirra read the worry in the inventor's eyes.

Hercules stopped their progression away from the laboratory with a hand on Daedalus's shoulder. "I heard the news … about Icarus. Daedalus, I'm so very sorry."

Kirra saw it in both of their faces—the pain of loss. There was none other like it. It was an exclusive club, one only certain people had access to, but it wasn't one Kirra had any interest in. She didn't want to know what it was to have a piece of your heart ripped out by death.

Daedalus lowered his head.

"Is there anything I can do?"

"Oh, thank you, Hercules, but it was some months ago…"

Hercules nodded uncomfortably. "I wish I'd heard sooner. Icarus was an amazing young man."

Daedalus nodded, accepting the condolences, but Kirra sensed something else in him. He didn't want to talk about it. The pain of it was too much to speak of, and if what Katrina the scribe said was true, then his pain must be truly great. She approached, assuring the sound of her footfalls were noisy enough to break the uneasy tension between the two men. It worked.

Hercules put a hand at her back, bringing her forward. "Daedalus, this is a friend of mine."

Tears glistened in his eyes, but Daedalus seemed happy for the distraction. He held out his hand. "Hello."

"Hello," she said, shaking his hand. These sorts of introductions with strangers always made her uncomfortable, especially when said stranger was responsible for nearly wiping out an entire settlement of villagers.

"And you are?" Daedalus glanced between herself and Hercules.

"My name is Kirra. I'm a friend of the family," she said, indicating Hercules with a glance in his direction. "Hercules was kind enough to offer me company on my trip home when he heard about your son." She looked away at his discomfort. "I decided to take the detour with him. Anyway, I'm glad to finally meet you, Daedalus. I've heard many … _things_ about you from Hercules."

Her intention had been to say "many _good_ things," but she couldn't bring herself to say it. Her mind had returned to the sight of the frightened villagers. The image of the ballista's flaming missile and the child huddled under the wagon would haunt her for a long time to come. What might have happened had Hercules not been there?

"Hercules has always been one for exaggeration," Daedalus said with a terse laugh.

Seemed her efforts had been for naught. The tension between the three of them had grown as thick as fog. Daedalus's comment should have brought on laughter, but she could feel the frustration coming off of Hercules in waves. He wouldn't be able to keep his silence for long.

"What we saw on our way here wasn't an exaggeration, Daedalus," he said. There was no accusation in his voice. Only remorse.

"What are you talking about?" Surprisingly, he seemed genuinely curious.

"A dangerous weapon on the outskirts of Chalcis."

"One of the soldiers wielding it said you made it," Kirra added.

Daedalus looked at the two of them, seemingly dumfounded.

"Please tell me you know nothing of it," Hercules said.

Daedalus frowned and crossed his arms. "Of course, I know of it. I'm chief inventor to King Nikolos. That's my job."

"But not just any Nikolos; this is the same man I fought with in the Battle of Plataea. You know the story, Daedalus. You know what he's capable of."

His words piqued Kirra's curiosity. This was a story she'd not heard, but Daedalus swiped an angry hand through the air, bringing the telling of it to an end.

"That war ended years ago!"

Hercules had hoped Daedalus would countermand his accusation. He had hoped to hear him say, "Hercules, you have it all wrong. I'm not the one." But his vehement response said what he needed to know.

"You did build the weapon."

"Of course, I did! Why should I deny it?"

Kirra saw the dropping of Hercules's shoulders. Even as he questioned him, Hercules had continued to hold out hope that Daedalus was not responsible for the destruction and the terror they had seen. There was no doubting it now. Katrina was right. The inventor's fame would soon become infamy.

"Daedalus, I don't understand," Hercules said. "Why would you side with Nikolos? The man I used to know wouldn't design a knife for fear it might cut someone."

"Now, what's that supposed to mean?"

"Excuse me, Daedalus," Kirra cut in, sensing the inventor's plaintiveness and his growing anger. "But I have to know … do you have any idea how your ballista is being wielded?"

Her interjection had the opposite effect, bringing Daedalus to his boiling point.

"It is not _my_ ballista, young lady!" he cried, the volume of his voice making Kirra jump. "It belongs to the King! My job is to invent, not to _pass judgment._ "

It wasn't until his tirade was over that Daedalus saw the bright red color on the girl's cheeks and the tears threatening to spill from her eyes. She didn't know why his anger had upset her. He wasn't attacking her; he was defending his reputation. So why did it feel like a slap to the face?

Daedalus was remorseful, but not so that he felt compelled to apologize. Nor had his anger left him. He turned from Kirra to gaze into the eyes of a man who didn't seem to know him anymore.

"It was good to see you again, Hercules, but if you'll excuse me, I have work to do." With that, Daedalus marched back into his laboratory where the smoke had begun to clear.

Hercules touched Kirra's shoulder. "Are you all right?"

She nodded, chastising herself from within for not keeping her mouth shut. "I'm sorry, Hercules." She tried to smile. "I should be more mindful of your mother's direction and keep my thoughts to myself as a young lady ought."

"No," Hercules said with a shake of his head. "You spoke your mind. After what you witnessed yesterday, you have a right to. Mother would be the first to say so. Come on, let's give Daedalus some space."

"We're not leaving?"

"No." Hercules eyed the laboratory the inventor had disappeared into. "There's more going on here than meets the eye."

* * *

"Aren't you going to eat?"

Hercules looked at the food on his plate. A slab of meat, a chunk of bread and a side of greens. All the hearty food a growing half-god needs and he hadn't touched a bit of it. Then, he glanced at Kirra's plate. It may have held less food than his, but she had hardly touched hers either.

He grinned at her. "I'll start eating when you start eating."

She shrugged, evading his inquisitive eyes. "Guess I'm not very hungry."

They had left the industrial side of Chalcis some time ago, opting to find lunch in a less seedy part of the city. Hercules hadn't wanted to take Kirra into a tavern. Part of the reason he had returned to the heart of the city was to avoid the rowdy establishments. But their choices were no higher here than they were on the industrial side. Hercules had picked the only place in town not crawling with lowlifes or reeking of ale. At least the food smelled good.

Hercules took a bite of bread and downed it with a gulp of goat's milk. The food tasted good, too. He only wished he had an appetite for it. "I guess I'm too busy thinking to think about food."

"What are you thinking?" Kirra followed his lead and took a bite of quail.

"That I have a bad feeling." Hercules shuffled the food on his plate. "And I'm worried about Daedalus."

Kirra tried to ignore the comings and goings of the people within the tavern—barmaids going from table to table, serving lunch and ale, the raucous conversation of a group of men a couple of tables over—and concentrate on Hercules instead, but her inquisitive mind made it difficult. She had never set foot within a tavern in her life. It was the interesting faces that caught her eye more than her surroundings. Some were young, some were old, some had skin as leathery as the proprietor of the inn they stayed in the night before. Men and women, light hair, dark hair, and a good many had white hair, but they had one thing in common—they were not happy. Kirra couldn't spot a genuine smile in the room. The people didn't have to tell her where their sadness came from. She understood it instinctively. They were a subjugated people, unable to live as they choose.

She turned to the only man who could free them, but Hercules seemed more concerned for his friend to see the suffering of the people around him.

"Do you think his son's death could have affected him to the point he's forgotten the difference between right and wrong?" she asked.

Hercules shrugged. "All I know right now is he's alone. He's a widower, and now he's lost his only child. He's had no one to turn to but Nikolos, and Nikolos is the sort of person who would take advantage of an old man's grief."

A memory of her mother surfaced like flotsam from a shipwreck. Kirra had been thirteen at the time and entering the difficult stage of adolescence. Meriba hadn't been married to Hiram a year. The memory wasn't a hard one to recall. It had stamped itself into her mind long ago. The problem was she didn't want to remember it. She wished she could have buried it, painted over it, hidden it, anything to keep it from resurfacing. To this day, she could see her mother lying on the floor, heartbroken and bruised, as clearly as one looks through glass. Hiram had come home reeking of soot and ale. Dinner was almost ready, but it wasn't sitting on the table and that made Hiram angry.

It wasn't the first time he hit her mother, but it was the first time she saw it happen. Kirra could remember screaming and demanding that he stop, but he only stopped when he was ready, when the nauseating mix of booze and hunger had weakened his knees. He had stumbled from the house, mumbling incoherently. The next morning, Kirra found him passed out in the garden.

As vivid as those memories were, it was her conversation with Meriba that morning while Hiram snored next to the tomatoes that stuck with her. Kirra had been angry, but not only with Hiram. She had been angry with her mother, too.

"Why did you marry him, mamma? You were stupid to marry him!"

What teenage girl hasn't railed against her parent for something or another? If there were a child who hadn't said something as horrible against a mother or father, Kirra would like to meet them. She'd like to ask them what perfect world had they come from.

Thinking back, Kirra guessed it would have served her right if Mother had turned and slapped her face, but Meriba simply hung her head, her voice as thin as thread when she spoke.

"He took advantage of us, Kirra." _Not me. Us._ "He knew how afraid I was that I wouldn't be able to care for you, that we would end up on the street begging for food. I couldn't see … I couldn't see him for what he was."

Meriba had cried then, tears as profuse as rain, begging for her forgiveness. Kirra hadn't been able to do much but hold her.

She hated the memory, but Hercules's words about Daedalus had brought it back. She wished she could erase it, but in the long run, it seemed to have served a purpose. It helped her to empathize with the inventor. He was stuck, as Mother was. The only difference was Daedalus hadn't woken up to the truth yet. He was the king's toy, as her mother had been Hiram's.

In her mental absence, Hercules had continued to speak. She caught the end of it. "…and now with Nikolos reigning as king in Euboea, the situation here can only get worse."

Kirra took a sip of her drink. "Refresh my memory. I don't think I know the tale of Nikolos. You said something of having fought with him in the Battle of Plataea?"

"Yeah," Hercules said with an uncomfortable nod. "Daedalus is right, the battle happened years ago. Persia was attempting to invade. Iolaus and I helped fight them off, but we weren't the only ones. Many people lost their lives in the war. It was the Battle of Plataea, however, that ensured victory. And Nikolos was the one who led it." Hercules paused before continuing. "The reason you've never heard of Nikolos is because of what he did to win the war. I fought to bring him to justice, but the Greek and Spartan armies agreed to bury the truth. They'd won. They didn't care how."

"What happened?"

"The Persians had sacked Athens, destroyed it. Then, their commanding general Mardonius ordered a retreat to Thebes, which they had already seized. Mardonius hoped by retreating he would draw our armies to his playing field. It worked. The fighting there was brutal, but we were slowly gaining the upper hand. A decision was made to withdraw, to lead the Persians to believe we were running. I didn't like the idea, but I was just a kid at the time. It's not like they would have listened to me."

Hercules gave a sardonic grin and continued.

"Anyway, Iolaus and I were stationed under Nikolos's command. As a war strategist, he's brilliant. I wouldn't have wanted to fight against him. But, as a human being, he's a monster. It's what got him exiled to Lexos after the war.

"We had weakened the Persians on all fronts, blinded them with a false victory and they fell right into the trap. They advanced, expecting us to fall back. Their general, Mardonius, even accompanied them atop a white horse. The last thing they expected was a full assault from Spartan warriors and Greek hoplites. Surprisingly, though, they held their own under the eyes of their general. So, when a Spartan soldier named Arimnestus saw an opportunity to take out the general, he took it. Mardonius was surrounded by bodyguards, but Arimnestus broke through their ranks on his own and took the general down…" Hercules cupped his hand as if he held something within it. "…with a rock."

"That took a lot of bravery."

"I only wish the rest of the battle had been won with such courage. With their general dead, the Persian army began to fall. When we had beaten them back, they retreated to their walled encampment on the other side of a village named Danalos."

Hercules looked unwilling to continue. His memories of the event were as strong and as painful as her own. Kirra reached across the table and placed her hand upon his.

"What did he do?"

"Mardonius's men had taken good care of the people of Danalos—spared them, protected them. Hard to believe, I know, but the people were devoted to them, and they stood ready to defend Mardonius and his men." Hercules's eyes gravitated to her hand upon his. "But Nikolos didn't seem them as obstacles. He didn't even see them as people. He slaughtered them while Iolaus and I stood on the sidelines, along with a handful of other soldiers who couldn't bring themselves to do what the rest of them did."

"By the gods," Kirra breathed. "What of the women and children?"

Hercules shook his head, his face wrought with the emotion he fought to hold back. "Nikolos slaughtered every one of them, hundreds of innocent men, women and children, and then he decimated the Persian camp. I remember seeing Iolaus bent over the body of a little girl. It was the first time I'd ever seen him cry." His voice broke when he said it and a tear slipped down his cheek. He wiped it away as quickly as it fell.

When she first heard of him, Iolaus had been an abstract image; a friend of Hercules, helping him to fight his battles. It was how she had seen him. Their first meeting didn't help to solidify a positive image. Nonetheless, she now saw Iolaus in an encouraging light. The idea of him crying over the death of a child softened her heart to him. Yet, her first thought was of Hercules. Seeing the pain etched in his face, she knew now why he fought so hard not to believe his friend could be involved in anything as the creation of war implements. He'd seen what their destruction could do first hand.

She squeezed Hercules's hand. "If Nikolos has taken advantage of your friend, you need to talk to him. Preferably alone, without my interference. Emotionally, Daedalus is asleep. You need to wake him up. You need to make him see."

Hercules nodded. "You're right. And when I do, I need to get him out of Euboea."

Over Hercules's shoulder, Kirra caught sight of a group of men approaching their table, most of them soldiers. Leading them was the man who, hours before, had stumbled from the laboratory with Daedalus—the hawk-faced man.

Kirra tapped Hercules's hand and pointed behind him. "You may need to put that idea on hold."

Hercules turned in time to see a balding man dressed in statesmen's clothing approach with four flanking soldiers. He rose quickly to his feet, shielding Kirra from their view. "Can I help you?"

"Hercules, I presume?"

"Yes."

The hawk-faced man extended his hand, but Hercules didn't take it. "The name is Perdix. I have a message from His Majesty, King Nikolos."

"What does he want?"

The hawk-faced man, Perdix, forced a grin. "He would like for you to join him at the palace." He took note of the hardening of Hercules's face. "It's a request. Not an order."

Unenthused, Hercules sighed and resigned himself to the meeting. "In that case, lead the way."

Kirra rose from her seat, the chair scraping back and drawing the attention of Perdix and the soldiers. Her heart felt as if it might burst from her chest.

Perdix held out a hand in her direction and gave her the withering look he might cast to a peasant on the street. "The invitation is for Hercules alone."

"It's okay, Kirra," Hercules said, pulling her off to the side. "Stay here. I'd rather you not come. Nikolos is not someone you'd want to meet. Besides, I won't be long."

"Are you sure you'll be all right?" she asked with a watchful eye on the hawk-faced man.

Hercules gave her comforting smile. "I'm not afraid of Nikolos."

"Okay, but be careful."

"As always," he said.

She watched him walk away with Perdix and his soldiers, fearful for his safety. He turned once more and waved, his way of saying, 'don't worry, I'll be right back.' Yet secretly, she was glad to see him go. Not because she wanted him gone, but because she wanted some time to herself. Hercules had a bit of investigating to do in order to discover what Nikolos was up to. His friend was in trouble and he had to get him out of it. Conversely, she was not in trouble, nor did she intend to get into any. Despite the distraction of Hercules's story of battle and death, she had not forgotten the events of last night or the figure she'd seen under the light of a torch. She had to know if what she saw was real or merely a figment of her imagination.

Kirra had her own investigating to do.

* * *

 **Hope you enjoyed chapter 5. In the next chapter, during her investigation, Kirra runs into an old "friend."**


	6. Chapter 6

_**Kirra's Journey**_

 **Episode 3 – Outsider Looking In  
**

* * *

 _Chapter 6_

The shopkeeper spotted her from the street. A simple girl in a simple dress. The only thing about her not simple was the resolve he saw in her eyes. In those blue irises, a blue so deep they were almost as black as the depths of the ocean, were reflected one of the few items he had on display. A cloak.

The cloak itself was not expensive. Its fabric, plain black in color, was not of any special design. He used it merely for demonstration purposes, to showcase his work. Of all the clothing designers in Chalcis, he prided himself in being the best. He could understand the simple girl's sudden infatuation.

He watched her enter. The cloak was close to the front of the shop. It wouldn't take her many steps to reach it. He made sure he reached it before she did, and before she could lay her hand on its fabric.

A snarl curled her lip when he laid his hand upon her wrist.

"Can I help you, miss?" he asked.

"How much for the cloak?" she said, checking the attitude.

The shopkeeper eyed her simple dress and smirked. "Far more than you can afford, I assure you."

"How much to borrow it?" she asked with a raised eyebrow, eyeing his sparse shop which consisted mostly of textiles than readymade clothing.

The shopkeeper's considerable girth rose and fell with his intolerant sigh. "We do not loan clothing here, young lady. We sell it."

The girl rolled her dark eyes and huffed, setting her curly bangs aflutter. "You've heard of Hercules, haven't you?" she asked.

"My dear, if you're going to tell me you happen to be a good friend of Hercules, try again. Do you have any idea how many times I've heard, 'I'm a friend of Euripides' or 'I'm a friend of Daedalus'?" He crossed his arms. "If you haven't the dinars, don't waste my time."

Her liquid blues sent him a glare as deadly as one of the inventor's creations. Had she been capable of inflicting pain with a glare only, the shopkeeper felt certain he would have died on the spot. Thank the gods for the arrival of Lady Lydia!

He shoed the audacious girl from the premises. "If you don't mind, I have an actual customer to attend to."

He turned, giving his full and effusive attention to the elderly woman wrapped in an elegant silk chiton. "Oh, Lady Lydia! How good it is to see you!"

The shopkeeper didn't notice the common girl re-enter his shop. He'd centered his obsequious concentration upon a woman of royalty. With the king caught up in making Chalcis safe, the atmosphere of the court was downtrodden of late. Lady Lydia thought it might be a grand idea to host a Ball. Her ideas were more than grand. They were dinars in his pocket! He'd been struggling lately because of the king's peacekeeping efforts. Trade had become difficult. Lady Lydia's idea would leave him sitting pretty for months to come. The common girl and her infatuation with his cloak went far from his mind.

Many hours had passed, Lady Lydia had long gone, and a comfortable down payment jingled in his pouch, before he saw a pair of fashionable blue sandals hanging exactly where the black cloak once hung.

* * *

Kirra slid the cloak's hood over her head. It was perfect. Its dark color wouldn't draw any attention. She had smeared it with dirt in places to give it a well-traveled look. She could blend in with the common people where before, as she walked the streets with Hercules, she had stood out. Her yellow curls were her worst enemy in such situations. How often she had wished for a hooded cloak to hide them.

When she spotted the cloak in the clothing shop, she knew she had to have it. In the high-end areas of town, she could use her curls (as long as they were styled and well kept), and her bearing to pass for a person of more worth than she was. It had worked at times in Endor and every time in Corinth, but the shopkeeper had seen right through her. His clothing shop had nothing on Alcmene's wardrobe and yet he had the nerve to be snooty. She wished now she hadn't destroyed the blue dress on the road out of Corinth. It might have given the shopkeeper a different impression of her.

Therefore, she regretfully had to use Hercules's name. She hated the idea of name-dropping. It was a cowardly, and ( _gods, forgive me for thinking it_ ) a rather Salmoneus-like thing to do. She hadn't thought it would work, and it didn't, but she had to try. If only for the sake of her honor. She salvaged what little of it she could by leaving Alcmene's sandals behind. Made of the finest materials in Corinth, the sandals had to be nearly an equal trade. If not, she would have to find some way to repay the shopkeeper.

While Hercules and his former commander played a game of wills, Kirra weaved through town. She left the shopkeeper to fawn over his favorite customer and carefully made her way back to the industrial side of Chalcis.

Fear worked through her, but she didn't let it have its way. She had to stay focused and keep her mind on what she was there to do—investigate, find proof or find peace of mind. She hoped for the latter.

This would take her to places she had never been. She had already defiled her tavern-innocence for the day, so she started there. A handful of taverns occupied the darker corners of town. Within them, the stench of ale filled her nostrils, and she could not walk through the dark interiors without a waft of pipe smoke in her face. Dirty, hard-working faces appeared in the light of candles or a shaft of sunlight. Less reputable women slung their arms about the shoulders of these dirty faces, women whose interest were not in the men but in the dinars they brought with them.

Kirra hid in the corners of these darkened taverns, making herself as invisible as possible, but none of the faces she watched resembled the one she sought, the one which still gave her nightmares.

Were Hercules to find her here, he might start asking questions she didn't want to answer, questions about Hiram. She moved on. A tavern search had proved fruitless anyway.

She left the dark places behind, and moved about in the light of day, going from blacksmith shop to blacksmith shop. There weren't many of them in Chalcis, and men of greater brawn than her former stepfather worked in these open buildings, but Kirra went to each one. She questioned the blacksmiths, but no one had ever heard the name Hiram. Her search was beginning to look in vain until one of the blacksmiths said something that brought her to a halt.

"Nope, no Hiram here, miss," he'd said, his voice raspy from coal smoke.

"Thank you."

This shop had been her last chance to either prove or disprove what she had seen. She had begun to walk away, feeling neither enlightened or vindicated, when the blacksmith said to her back.

"But here ain't the only place you're gonna find a blacksmith."

Kirra turned. "Oh?"

"Nope. King has his own blacksmith."

"I thought Daedalus—"

"Wrong again. Daedalus makes war chariots. You know, the big guns, weapons of annihilation, stuff like that. For swords and maces, King Nikolos has a personal blacksmith."

"Where might I find this blacksmith?"

"Depends. Most times, he's holed up in the palace. Usually don't see him for weeks on end."

Kirra sighed, resigning herself to following Hercules and making her way into the palace on her own. That is, until the blacksmith spoke again.

"But lately, since old Daedalus come to town, he spends a lot of his time in the inventor's shop." The blacksmith pointed a battered iron hammer in the direction of the shop she and Hercules had spied on earlier in the day.

She eyed the shop in the distance. The same guards were standing watch at the doors. No one came and went from inside and yet smoke plumed from the flue on the roof. Something was going on in there. She had to know. She had to get a look inside, and put this business to rest once and for all.

"Thank you," she said again and made her way to Daedalus's shop with her heart beating like a drum in her chest.

* * *

Kirra chose to wait and watch as she had with Hercules. Her concentration then had surreptitiously been on the blacksmith shops while Hercules waited for Daedalus to show himself. For all she knew, the man she had seen last night had shown himself then. He might have come stumbling out of the smoking building with Daedalus and his buddy Perdix. He might have passed behind her with a leering grin. Or better, she hadn't seen him at all. The figure she had seen on the darkened streets of Chalcis was just that—a figure, though not a real one. She hoped he was a figure of her imagination.

Surveillance wasn't Kirra's strong suit, however. The longer she loitered outside of the inventor's shop hoping and yet dreading to get a glimpse of the man she'd seen only in torchlight, the more she drew the eyes of the guards. She didn't want the scarred one to look at her ever again, so she moved on before they got it into their little minds to ask her what she was doing. Besides, she had scoped the building long enough. She knew exactly what she wanted to do.

Moving down the dirt road, expertly avoiding small mounds of horse manure as she had back home, Kirra waited until she was out of the guards' sight and slipped behind a tannery shack. She held her nose against the stench of rotting animal hides, swatting at flies and walking as if she had every business being along the back alleyways. She passed the rear of one of the taverns she had visited as well as another blacksmith shop before she found her way to the back of Daedalus's shop.

Worried there might be more guards, Kirra slowed her steady gait and approached cautiously, but all was quiet. Other than the voices coming from within the shop, she was alone.

 _Good._

There were no rear doors at the back of the shop, and even if there were, she would not have simply waltzed in. She wasn't here to raise a commotion, or end up in another dungeon. It was easier, and less dangerous to her well-being, to look for another option. It wasn't long before one presented itself.

At the far corner of the building, Kirra spied a wide slatted window, tightly shut to keep out any prying eyes. A few quiet steps and she had ducked beneath its frame. She raised her eyes at the opposite corner and lifted one slat slowly and deliberately not to draw attention.

Kirra let her eyes rove easily down the length of the shop's interior. If she didn't know any better, she might have thought she was peering into a witches den. Kettles boiled and smoked with an unknown substance, torches lit the room in a ghostly glow, and in one corner of the room stood a statue with a beastly face. This wasn't a simple inventor's lab. Something else was going on in here.

No partitions blocked her gaze save for support beams. What blocked her line of sight was the group of men huddled around a long worktable. Another stood on the high rung of a handmade ladder, his gaze fixed on the men below. Daedalus was easy to identify. He was the only one in the room with long, snow-white hair. One man turned a sidelong glance at the inventor and Kirra recognized him as Perdix, the hawk-faced man, the one who had led Hercules to the King some time ago. Others were some who had stumbled from the shop earlier in the day. None of them wore the face from her nightmares.

Kirra might have felt relief were she not now faced with the task of finding a way into the palace. It was the one avenue of investigation she had left to explore. She had to see this through to end, no matter what she had to do. Until she did, she would not find peace.

Returning the slat of wood to its place, Kirra turned to follow the alleyway back to the tannery and froze at the sight of an all too familiar face. Standing between her and the exit stood Katrina of Katea, her arms crossed and her lips pursed.

"Well well, fancy meeting you here," the scribe said. Her expression, however, belied the authenticity of her words. She was not surprised to see Kirra, nor was she happy.

Kirra wanted to run, to high tail it down to the other end of the alley. She could beat a quick path back to the boarding house, hide in the room with the door locked and not face the lies she told in order to keep this woman away from Hercules (they hadn't worked anyway). Were it not for her investigation, she might have. For now, Kirra stood her ground. She couldn't let the guilt of lying and sending the scribe on a wild goose chase give her a reason to run. She was braver than that. Hadn't she stolen a cloak right out from under the watchful eyes of its owner?

In the time it took for Kirra to find her courage, Katrina continued as boldly as ever. "Tell me, how's dear old Dad? Feeling better, I hope? Or did the floods wash him away?"

Kirra approached the scribe on quick feet, one finger over her lips. "Would you keep your voice down," she hissed. "Do you want them to hear you?"

"Hear what? More of your lies, you back stabbing, conniving little wit—"

Kirra popped a hand over the scribe's mouth with little thought to her comfort. The sound of clinking armor and unsheathed swords had reached her ears.

Katrina mumbled something that sounded suspiciously like "how dare you," and pulled at Kirra's arm, but the approaching guards didn't give her a chance to argue further.

"Go, they're coming!" Kirra harshly whispered.

They both moved for a hiding place around the corner of the next building, careful not to patter their feet on the hard-packed ground, and huddled behind the remnants of a wooden fence. The guards arrived but seconds behind them and glanced around the empty and quiet alleyway. When no one suitable surfaced for them to pummel, they huffed and returned to their post, leaving Kirra and Katrina to sigh in unison.

"Are you off your head?" Kirra said. "Do you have any idea where we were?"

The scribe, now over her fright, re-embraced her anger. "Oh, I know exactly where I am. Didn't I tell you? I'm on my way to the capital city of Euboea. Chalcis, I believe I told you its name. I believe I also told you I am looking for a man named Daedalus, because his son died and now the poor, grief-stricken inventor is making weapons of destruction for the king. And you," Katrina said with a pointed finger, " _Kirra of Nesimus_ , used my honesty against me and sent me packing off in the wrong direction. Who do you work for?"

Kirra had been waiting to waylay the scribe with the truth that Katrina had been one window slat away from the inventor and she didn't even know it, but Katrina's final question threw Kirra for a loop.

"Who do I work for?" Kirra said, confounded. "What are you talking about?"

Katrina dropped her hands impatiently onto her hips. "Please, don't waste my time with more lies. Who is your publisher? Who is out to get this story ahead of me?"

Kirra almost laughed. "You think I'm a scribe. You honestly think I lead you to Thebes to get _'the scoop over you.'_ "

Katrina's cheeks reddened. "What other reason could you have? This is the story of a lifetime!"

"I don't care about your silly story or whether you publish it or not. I care about my family!"

The truth of that statement hit home with more weight than any weapon of destruction. Alcmene, Jason, Hercules—they were her family now. She was as protective of them as she had been of her mother. Now Mother was alone while she traipsed across Greece with its most famous hero, looking for a ghost glimpsed in torchlight. Kirra had to make right what she had made wrong, mother's lonely life alone being the foremost of these. For now, she needed to set the scribe straight and continue her investigation.

"And I was not going to let you hurt Hercules the way you hurt Alcmene with your insidious questions."

A disbelieving grin touched Katrina's lips. "If you expect me to believe you're related to the son of Zeus, you're not as good a liar as you think."

"I sent you in the wrong direction so you wouldn't question Hercules about his past, so you wouldn't break the news about his friend's predicament as if it were mere news. You care nothing for the people you write about. They are words on parchment to someone like you."

That struck right where Kirra hoped it would—in the heart. Katrina the scribe blanched. "You know nothing about me."

"I know you'll do whatever it takes to get a story. You said so yourself."

"Look, I'm just here to observe and report. The people want to hear _what_ happened, not _why_ it happened. What kind of a story would it make if what I reported on were people's feelings? Besides, I have to work harder than most to—"

"Yes, I know. You're a woman trying to make it in a man's world. I may be younger than you, but I know exactly what it takes to make it in this world, and I'll do _whatever it takes_ to protect those I care about."

Katrina crossed her arms. "Point taken. But I'm curious, if you're so bent on protecting Hercules, why is he in the palace with King Nikolos and you're out here stealing cloaks and hopping from tavern to smithy?" When she saw Kirra's look of surprise, Katrina continued with a grin. "Yes, I've been watching you since this afternoon _when I finally arrived in Chalcis_. I didn't even bother going to Nesimus. I didn't have the time. Imagine my surprise to see you with Hercules entering a tavern in town."

Kirra sighed. "If you must know, I'm gathering evidence."

"Evidence of what?"

Kirra shook her head and laughed. "You really don't know where you are, do you? I was standing right behind the inventor's shop when you decided to draw the guard's attention."

Her eyebrows went up. "The inventor? You mean Daedalus? So, he is here!"

"Yes, he's here and he's doing exactly what you described—making weapons for the king. Hercules thinks Nikolos is taking advantage of Daedalus's grief over the loss of his son."

"Then, he is responsible for his son's death?"

"I don't know. Hercules didn't get the chance to discuss that with him. Once he's done talking to the king, he's supposed to talk to Daedalus alone."

"Not unless I get to him first," Katrina said, removing her parchment and quill from the leather satchel on her arm. She tried to walk around Kirra, but found she got no farther than a few steps before the girl had ahold of her arm. "Let go of me unless you want the sharpened end of a quill in the back of your hand."

"Katrina, please. Let Hercules deal with Daedalus." The scribe pulled harder to get out of Kirra's grasp, but Kirra pulled back, pleading with her. "The woman I met on the road is a good person, a woman with principles. She's not as heartless as the scribe. Please, I'm begging you. Give Hercules the opportunity to help his friend see reason."

Katrina jerked her arm from Kirra's grip. "All right, fine," she said, her shoulders slouched in resignation. They perked up again an instant later, her eyes narrowing as she stared down the alleyway. "Doesn't mean I can't find out what you found so interesting inside the inventor's shop, though."

Kirra sighed watching the scribe walk away down the alley toward the rear of Daedalus's shop. Her hopes of stealing into the palace in search of the king's blacksmith (how she planned to do so was still a mystery to her) were now dashed. Katrina the scribe was a ticking time bomb; one never knew when she might go off on a scribe-induced question frenzy.

By the time Kirra made her way back to the slat window, Katrina had already lifted one at her eye level. As the scribe stood almost a head taller than she did, Kirra had no choice but to wedge herself in and raise her own slat. She thought to give the scribe a good elbow to the ribs had they no need for silence. But what would be the use? If she were to keep the scribe on her good side, she needed to let her have something of a story. As long as it wasn't her own story, she could let Daedalus take some of the brunt. He was, after all, manufacturing weapons that could destroy an entire village of innocents.

"See anything?" Katrina whispered beside her.

"Other than Daedalus and his minions hunched over plans for his next greatest killing machine? No."

"It's like a witches den in there with all those kettles burning," Katrina said, drawing a sideways glance from Kirra. "And what is that beastly face in the corner?"

Kirra shrugged.

Katrina scribbled the point of her quill over folded parchment paper, taking notes of everything she saw. "Then, the rumors were true. He _is_ making weapons for the king."

"He admitted as much to Hercules. He says they belong to the king and he takes no responsibility for what happens with them."

"Well, isn't that convenient," Katrina said in reply as one of the workers broke from the table with a pair of tongs, Daedalus directing him with a pointed finger right in their direction.

"Duck!" Kirra pulled on Katrina's arm once again and pulled both of them below the windowsill.

A few seconds passed where silence reigned, save for the minute sound of their stagnated breathing. When no sounds of running armored guards greeted their ears, Katrina ventured a question.

"Do you think he saw us?"

"I don't—"

A clinking of metal against metal and the sizzling of liquid on hot iron issued from the window above them.

"That's right," came a voice from inside. "Bring it this way, slow and careful."

As if summoned by the voice of Daedalus himself, Kirra and Katrina rose slow and careful to their feet. The man who had come so close to seeing them was now walking back to the worktable, a metal vial caught in the tongs. They watched him walk the length of the table to the other side where he poured the contents of the vial over a basin filled with hot coals. There the unknown liquid sizzled and sparked and created a heavy white smoke, temporarily blanketing the room. The men at the table backed away, fanning the smoke from their faces, revealing what their bodies had until then hidden from Kirra and Katrina's sight.

On the table, one next to the other in perfect alignment, were three enormous crystals. Torchlight glittered within them and sent filaments of light on the adjacent walls. Kirra had never seen a stone more beautiful in her life, and here sat three of them. Where on this island could such gems have been mined? More importantly, what deadly instrument of war would Daedalus create with something so beautiful?

One of the men, a bald man with a thick mustache and thicker arms, bent over a crystal closest to them and rested his dirty hands gingerly over it.

"That's it," Daedalus said to him. "Move it over just a hair."

He did as asked, at least to Kirra's eyes, but it wasn't to Daedalus's liking.

"Carefully! Carefully!" he demanded as if one wrong move might send them to Mount Olympus. Daedalus conveyed that very fear with a reproachful glance in the bald man's direction. "It _must_ be aligned with it. Now try again, and this time be gentle."

Kirra went cold. Fear of guards with spears catching them out in the open was not what worried her, nor what made her back away from the window. Her memory of a golden flame which rose to a height taller than the tallest building in Chalcis was her worry. If something went wrong, they could find themselves caught in its flow and burnt to a crisp along with half of Chalcis.

She pulled at Katrina's arm which was busily setting her hand in motion, writing every action she witnessed through the slatted window. Katrina's quill sent a screech of ink across parchment.

"Hey!" The scribe yanked her arm back and gave Kirra a glare that lasted a mere half a second before she returned to the activities in the inventor's shop.

"We should go," Kirra whispered.

"Are you nuts?" Katrina peered through the slat, not moving an inch. "Don't be a chicken. We're not missing this."

Before she knew it, Katrina's hand was at her back, pushing her toward the window as the bald man repositioned the diamond.

"Exactly," Perdix said, his eyes glittering in anticipation. "There."

She didn't like the look in the hawk-faced man's eyes. She saw greed, an uncommon gluttony for acts of destruction. He seemed to be waiting with bated breath for something miraculous to happen.

"Okay," Daedalus said in as quiet a whisper as Kirra's own. He looked up at the man on the ladder above them. "Try it now."

The man poised above them climbed two more rungs and swung open a portion of thatched roof. A shaft of sunlight shot into the room from above, its bearing taking it in milliseconds to the first crystal in the line. The men watched in amazement, Kirra and Katrina included, as the first crystal began to glow with a golden fire from within, a glow reminiscent of the flame that had turned night to day in seconds. When a beam of light shot from one stone to the next, Kirra stopped breathing. She froze in place as she had the night before. She could not know Katrina's reaction, for in the final seconds as light beamed into the third and final stone, everything around her seemed to dissipate. Only she and the glowing crystals existed. Her doom was imminent. The beam of light would shoot like lightening into the kiln of hot coals and in an instant its fire would consume them. She thought of her mother. She thought of Hercules. Mostly, she thought of her stepfather and how his eyes had sparkled not only with torchlight, but with a hatred so pure it surely glowed like the crystals. It _was_ him. She hadn't imagined it. In the final seconds before the flame overtook her, Kirra knew it as surely as she knew she was about to die.

The beam of light reached the hot coals where it exploded in an uninspiring display of sparks and smoke. The fireworks were greater than when the workman poured the contents of the vial into the kiln, but it wasn't the display Daedalus was looking for; nor was it the fiery end Kirra had imagined. The quintet of men reacted with huffs and grumbles of disappointment.

"That's still not right," Daedalus said, pounding his fist upon the worktable.

Their disappointment was lost on Katrina, however. Astonishment lit her face. "Did you see that?"

She didn't see Kirra, pale-faced and breathless, holding on to the windowsill to keep from crashing to her knees. Kirra answered, "Yes," but barely. She had held her breath as her short life flashed before her eyes, waiting for the inevitable fireball which would sent her heavenward. Now, she let it out slowly and tried to get a grip back onto reality. The world wavered for a bit, but soon came back into focus, and thankfully, Katrina the scribe hadn't seen a bit of it. Her attention had remained with Daedalus and his tinkering with crystals and coals and explosive liquids.

"Let's do it again!"

As the men at the table dispersed each to their own workstation, Katrina and Kirra ducked back under the windowsill.

"This is getting very interesting," Katrina said. She was fairly beaming, almost as brightly as the crystals, when she pulled Kirra around to the side of the workshop. "Come on. It's time to find out what's going on in there."

They had nearly rounded to the front of the building when Kirra pulled back. "You promised you would leave Daedalus to Hercules and I mean to hold you to it."

Katrina stopped short. "Look Kirra, this is my chance to make it big. A story like this could put me up there with the big boys like Apollodorus and Nicomachus. So, excuse me. I'm practicing my craft, and no one gets in my way. Not even Hercules."

"All right, already!" Kirra said, much louder than she had hoped to. She paused, listening for the guards. When all remained quiet, she returned her attention to the scribe, her voice lowered. "I know. You're a scribe and you've got a job to do. If you'd shut up long enough to let me speak…"

Katrina narrowed her eyes and bared a resentful grin instead of baring her teeth.

"…I have a plan that might get us inside the shop."

"Go on."

Kirra took a deep breath. "But you have to promise to help me, if I help you."

"Help you with what?" she asked with a frown.

"To get into the palace." Kirra was quick to note the scribe's raised eyebrow. "It doesn't matter why."

Deflated, Katrina nodded. "Okay, deal. What's the plan?"

"For starters … we wait."

Based on the severity of her frown, it wasn't quite the plan Katrina was hoping for, at least in the beginning. Katrina's frown turned into a smile while she listened to Kirra's plan of action with nothing less than furious anticipation.


	7. Chapter 7

_**Kirra's Journey**_

 **Episode 3 – Outsider Looking In**

* * *

 _Chapter 7_

The city of Katea was small in comparison to other great and illustrious Grecian cities like Athens or Corinth or Delphi. It was located on the island of Sicily, far away from the seat of Greek dominance, but still within its rule. That did not mean it lacked history or stories which could both curdle your blood and warm your heart.

Katrina had lived there most of her life and she knew the Sicilian city of Katea like she knew her own mind. She was a descendant of its original inhabitants, one of the true Katean's before Greek rule, before the reign of Hieron of Syracuse. He ousted her people from their homes and from their land many, many years ago, long before Katrina or her closest of kin were thought of. Hieron supplanted the people of Katea, as one might pull weeds from their garden, to bring in his own people. It was a time full of stories of hardship and despair, passed down from generation to generation of Katean people until even she as a young girl knew the grim details of the past.

Katea lived in the shadow of Mount Aetna, a white-capped and enormous volcano. Katrina had only ever witnessed it in moments of peace. Now and then Aetna would suffer an upset tummy and would belch thick plumes of black smoke, but for the most part, she sat upon her lofty throne and kept quiet while she watched over her inhabitants.

The shadow of war and expulsion lived far in the past for the people of Katea, but the subject had fueled a fire in young Katrina, much like the smoldering fire of Aetna. She learned everything there was to know about the history of her people, and she learned it all from ancient scribes, men who went to where the action was and recorded it for the sake of posterity. Katrina of Katea was born then. She knew it would be a hard road. A woman scribe? Who had ever heard of such a thing? But it was what she wanted, what she needed to become. From a young age, her family had steeped her in the history of the past, and as she grew older, she wanted to be the one who helped mould the minds of the younger generation. She wanted to be the one whose byline graced the top of the scroll. She wanted people to remember the girl from Katea, the city that struggled through history to make a name for itself. And she, Katrina, a simple village girl, had built such a reputation.

When people heard the name Katea, they automatically thought of their past—the ousting, the many infamous eruptions of Aetna and the mythic stories of Amphinomus and Anapias who gave up their possessions in order the carry their aged parents on their shoulders away from the erupting volcano (the flowing lava was said to have parted and flowed away from them in order for them to escape). Now, when people read her byline, Katrina of Katea, she became an instant connection to history in the minds of the people, and they remembered her.

Well, maybe not everybody. Daedalus, the most famous inventor to have walked the known world, didn't know who she was.

Kirra's great plan involved Katrina distracting the guards so she could then sneak in through the front door and let Katrina in through the window. The laboratory crew had long gone. All was clear. They had finalized the small details of the plan and could make their move, but the second Katrina was ready to pounce, Daedalus returned, which meant the plan had to change.

A sudden change in plans was familiar to Katrina. When plans change, one had to know when to change with them. Daedalus's return meant she had a chance to question the inventor and Kirra wouldn't be able to do a thing to stop her.

The new plan, formulated off the cuff, was for Katrina to approach in such a way as to catch the guard's attention, which would allow Kirra the opportunity to sneak in. And, though she hated to admit it, it was working. The girl was smart even if she was a liar.

Thus, Katrina had cornered the old man as he walked out of his shop. He hadn't been in there for long. He had grabbed a few rolled parchments on his way out. The guards were quick to move to his defense. Couldn't harm the one and only decent inventor of dangerous weapons for Chalcis, now could we? She had approached in her guise as scribe, parchment and quill at the ready, the respectable woman of Katea hidden behind a veneer of professionalism.

"Daedalus, hello," she'd called to him, loud enough to gain the attention of the two guards who flocked to the inventor's side. "I'm Katrina of Katea. Surely, you've heard of me." The hard set of his face did not soften at the mention of her name. Nope, he didn't know her at all. "I'm a friend of Hercules and he said it would be all right if I asked you a few questions."

"I'm really quite busy. Now, if you don't mind…" Daedalus began to walk away, eyeing the parchment of designs in his hands.

One of the guards, a younger one, not the oafish brute with the beastly scar on his face, put a halting hand to her shoulder. Katrina persisted nonetheless. She could see Kirra out of the corner of her eye, slinking along the front of the building toward the door. "But, Daedalus, I'd like to get your side of the story … about your son's death."

She knew it was a crass question, but it did the job. It stopped Daedalus in his tracks. He turned slowly and she forced a smile.

"I've said all I mean to say, young lady."

Which was nothing and she knew it. She also knew she should dig in, not give him the chance to walk away. A hard question, one he couldn't dismiss, was needed. _The people are saying you killed your son. Don't you want to answer the accusation, Daedalus? Don't you want to set the record straight?_ Yet, out the corner of her eye, Kirra was watching her closely. Katrina could hear the girl as if she were whispering in her ear: "You are a good person, who is not as heartless as the scribe."

For the first time in her career, Katrina left the professionalism behind the veneer and let the person of her heart out in the open, the woman who knew of the loss of loved ones and felt its pain.

As Daedalus turned from her once more, she touched his arm. "Really, I know I'm prying and I know this is personal, and painful, but people are saying his death was your fault. Don't you want an opportunity to respond to that?"

Katrina saw the look in his eyes. Her question hit him right to the heart. He hadn't known the rumors that spread after his son's death. She saw his doubt and his pain, and she sympathized.

In her line of work, sympathy was a bad idea. "Pity is like prunes," her publisher once told her. "Have too much of the stuff and your good stories will go down the privy with the rest of your crap." She knew he was right. He was always right when it came to doing her duty as a scribe, but Katrina couldn't hold back the past.

She could well remember the ugly things the people said about her when her mother died. She hadn't been home. She had been off in search of a great story far on the other side of Sicily. Family was an important institution in Katea; a large family was considered of greater wealth than large sums of money, and of even greater wealth was how well you cared for one another. Katrina hadn't returned home until her mother was long buried. No word of her mother's death came through messengers or in a letter. She had no idea, and yet the people of Katea, even her own family, could not forgive. She suffered through her grief and the implacable disdain of her people alone.

Outside of Katea, she was growing into a well-known scribe. In Katea, her reputation was not as great. She wished she had been given an opportunity to respond to their accusation. Would Daedalus take the opportunity given him? Katrina watched him sigh, the death of his son a heavy weight upon his shoulders as had been her mother's death.

"You are right," Daedalus said. "It is personal, and very painful…" But as the words were out of his mouth, his demeanor and expression returned to the angry and bitter man he had become. "And you _are_ prying. Guards!"

The guards pulled Katrina away from the inventor, too occupied with her intrusion to notice Kirra slip through the door. Katrina held their attention long enough for the door to the laboratory to slip closed.

"You cannot impede me, sir," she said to the oafish one giving her a hard stare. "I am a scribe. I have every right to ask questions."

"No such thing as rights in Chalcis, scribe." He stamped the end of his spear on the ground. "Now go about your business."

Katrina stamped her foot in defiance, drawing a curious glance from the younger of the two guards. She paid him no mind. Their plan had worked, but she still felt thwarted. Daedalus had been one whimper away from giving her the greatest scoop in history. She almost had him. Now, her one chance was gone.

At least the distraction part of the plan had worked. Kirra was in. Katrina had only to make her way to the back of the laboratory to begin the second, more mysterious part of the plan.

* * *

Hercules had taken part in his fair share of reunions. It was good to see family and old friends after a long absence. Friends like Daedalus, a man he had many fond memories of. They say absence makes the heart grow fonder and Hercules didn't know of any truer statement. This trip alone had seen many a reunion—with Kirra, with Daedalus, and now with Nikolos. The latter was one he could have done without.

Nikolos had not changed, not one scintilla, from the man he knew over ten years ago. The only difference Hercules saw was the scar which had partially closed his left eye. Who knew how he came of it? Hercules hoped he had received it during his stay on Lexos, a prison island much smaller than Euboea for murders the likes of Nikolos; and he hoped it was it was in retaliation for the senseless death Nikolos had brought to the people of Danalos.

As he made his way down a tree-lined path, Hercules thought deeply of what he and Nikolos had discussed. If there was one thing he learned, Nikolos was planning something grand. In his Throne Room, an ornate table with the city of Chalcis and its surrounding areas depicted in miniature stood in the center. Likely designed by Daedalus himself, it sealed the truth of his friend's involvement in Hercules's mind. He was being used, his grief for his son twisted into something unnatural. This was not Daedalus. Hercules had to make him see what Nikolos was doing to him.

It's why he found himself now standing at Daedalus's door. His home was tucked into the woods, far away from the prying eyes of villagers and others that might want to disturb him. Even in Crete, the home of Daedalus and his family had been far down a winding path where all that could be heard, besides the old man's tinkering, was the sound of birds and the trickle of a nearby brook. As it was then, so it was now. Birds chirped in the trees above him and a pond, alive with fish and the buzz of dragonflies, occupied the corner of the lot. The place was beautiful, a place of peace and quiet. A place Daedalus could find solace in.

Hercules knocked on the door.

"Go away!" came the voice of Daedalus from inside.

Hercules couldn't help but smile. That wasn't the first time he'd heard those words while standing on the other side of the inventor's door. He anticipated the reaction, but he also knew there was another, deep-seated reason for the gruffness in the man's voice.

"Daedalus, it's me ... Hercules."

A few seconds passed in which Hercules had begun to wonder whether his friend would open the door, but it eventually opened. The look on Daedalus's face was not much better than the sound of his voice. He frowned at Hercules and walked away with the door open. The last person Daedalus wanted to see was his old friend.

"What do you want from me?"

Hercules followed his friend inside and closed the door behind him. This house was similar to the one Daedalus once occupied in Crete, with a living area on one side and a lab on the other. Yet, the old house had a life this one lacked. His wife, Philina, had a love of greenery and growing things, and she was quite skilled with the potter's wheel. She had kept the house filled with plants, and her pottery skills could be seen in decorative wall art. Philina was gone now and so was her influence on the order of Daedalus's life. The living area barely looked lived in and the unkempt lab reflected the chaos that now reigned in the inventor's mind.

Hercules didn't see the point in wasting time with pleasantries as Daedalus didn't seem interested in offering any. "I want to know what you're doing here with Nikolos."

With his back to him, Daedalus fiddled with the glass jars sitting atop a worn wooden cabinet. Hercules remembered the cabinet well. Daedalus had encouraged him to help build it at a time when Hercules felt his life was falling apart. He watched this man who had once been so strong, and who was now so unsure of himself, stumble over an attempt to answer. When he seemed to finally settle upon one, Hercules knew it would be an answer as close to the truth as Daedalus was willing to come to it. There was simply too much pain in him.

"I had no place else to go, Hercules," Daedalus pleaded. "He took me in and gave me everything I needed for my work."

So, Nikolos was telling the truth. Daedalus had gone to him, not the other way around as he had thought. He had imagined his friend despondent and hurting, grieving the loss of his son, and Nikolos standing over him, requesting his assistance and filling his mind with lies so Daedalus would feel compelled to help him. Instead, he now saw Daedalus going to Nikolos on his hands and knees, begging for work in order to keep his mind free of torturous thoughts.

Hercules wanted to spare his friend any further pain, but he couldn't sugarcoat the truth. He had to make Daedalus see the harm he was perpetrating under the name of the king.

He picked up a piece of parchment depicting the ballista he and the villagers had dismantled the day before. "And in return, you supply him with the deadly weapons he wants."

Daedalus turned from Hercules's accusation. "I help him protect Euboea's citizens."

"I know this man, Daedalus." Hercules approached him and placed a hand on his friend's shoulder, but in his mind, he could see only the bodies of the children of Danalos. "Nikolos doesn't care about _protecting_ civilians. I saw the bodies he left in his wake when he ransacked Danalos. There were women and children—"

"That was long ago!" Daedalus cried, not meeting his eyes. "People change."

"Not _his_ kind of people." Were Daedalus not a man he both trusted and respected, Hercules wouldn't have controlled the tone of his voice. Only because he respected Daedalus, could he tell him the truth. "I saw how his men used your invention, Daedalus. The ballista. He used it against helpless farmers."

There was a second of utter horror on the face of the inventor, but it transformed into anger. "No! That's a lie."

"You know me better than that, Daedalus."

"But … no, Nikolos wouldn't have attacked those renegades unless they posed a threat to our security."

Daedalus turned from him, dismissing his words with a defiant wave of his hand.

"Don't you see what Nikolos is doing to you?" Hercules said. "You're letting your grief for Icarus's death blind you to the truth."

When Daedalus turned back to him, the man Hercules once knew vanished from before him. He hid behind a mask of pain and anger.

" _What would you know about my grief?!"_ he spat at Hercules.

As long as Hercules had known him, there wasn't a self-centered bone in Daedalus's body. Time and again, he worked on projects for kings and townsfolk alike and never once asked for repayment; though, he often got it whether he wanted it or not. So why would he say something so selfish? Daedalus knew well what Hercules had gone through after the death of Deianeira and the kids. Iolaus and mother weren't the only ones who had helped him through his grief. Hercules had spent time with Daedalus in Crete after their deaths. Working with Daedalus had gotten him through the worst of it, the part Daedalus was dealing with now—the anger.

Daedalus realized his mistake at the hurt displayed in Hercules's expression. What a terrible thing he'd said to his friend.

"I'm sorry, Hercules," Daedalus said with a pained expression. He gave Hercules an understanding pat on the arm and walked away with his shoulders drooping and his head lowered.

Hercules could not feel resentful of his friend even if he tried. The pain of losing his son so soon after the loss of his wife was still near to Daedalus.

"Apology accepted," Hercules said and crossed the room, not allowing Daedalus to put much distance between them or the truth. "Daedalus, I know this is a hard time for you, but creating pain and suffering for others isn't going to bring Icarus back. You told me the same thing once after Deianeira died. You put me to work. You kept me busy when thoughts of revenge kept creeping back into my mind."

Daedalus buried his face in his hands. "What would you have me do? I'm no different from you. If I don't keep busy, I'll go out of my mind." He turned to Hercules, his eyes wild, near the breaking point. "I can't be held responsible if someone _misuses_ one of my creations."

"Can't you?"

"Icarus's death is not my fault!" Daedalus buried his face in his hands once more.

Of all the responses Hercules expected, that wasn't one of them. "Daedalus, you know that's not what I think. Who told you that?"

Wiping away tears, Daedalus shook his head. "I don't know who she was. A scribe of some sort."

A knot formed in Hercules's gut. "A scribe?"

Daedalus nodded, but wouldn't look at Hercules. "She said people are saying I'm responsible for what happened to my son."

Hercules wanted to ask what happened, but he held his tongue and let Daedalus speak.

"I would never have hurt Icarus. How could anyone think it?" A deep growl issued from his throat and the inventor pounded his fist on the cabinet top, rattling and toppling glass jars. "Why in Tartarus can't people leave me alone to do my work?"

Hercules laid a hand upon his friend's shoulder. "Because, what we do in this life will always affect the people around us, for good or for bad. Do you really want to honor Icarus' memory by building weapons of destruction?"

As he spoke, Daedalus stared down at one of his many drawings, another weapon, another instrument of death and destruction. Hercules wondered how many he had laying around and how many more were in the works in his lab.

"No," Daedalus finally said. His voice was trembling when he continued. "He would be ashamed of me."

"He was always proud of you, proud to call you his father. Don't destroy the man he saw in you by working for Nikolos. He'll only ruin you."

"You're right, Hercules. Of course, you are." He turned to Hercules with as grateful a smile as he could muster. "I'll go to Nikolos. I'll tell him I'm done with this business."

"Do you need me to…?"

"No. I need to do this for myself. You understand?"

Hercules gave him a nod and a warming smile. "You know I do." The smile slipped almost as soon as it appeared. Hercules had other things on his mind. "Now, tell me a little more about this scribe."

* * *

"I applaud your attempt," Kirra said once she had helped Katrina through the rear window. "You were respectful of the old man's pain."

Katrina dusted the front of her dress free of any wood splinters that might have made their way into the fibers and looked from Kirra to the boiling kettle of _something_ , wondering how she managed to avoid falling in.

"Yeah? Well, it's not like it got me anywhere. Playing the nice scribe never has." Katrina got her bearings, gave the inside of the laboratory a good once over and frowned. "I should have known better than to listen to you. What are we supposed to do now that we're in here?"

Kirra shrugged. "Look around, I guess. My plan should reach fruition momentarily."

"What is that supposed to mean?"

Kirra ignored her and pointed to the beastly face they had both seen through the window. "Look, there it is." It was huddled in a corner, unused and gathering dust. Kirra gave it a strong knock. The knock resounded with a metallic echo. "It's made of steel."

"Keep it down, you crazy girl. Are you trying to draw the attention of the guards?"

Kirra merely smiled. "I wonder … what was its intended usage?"

Through its gaping maw, resembling something of a cross between a lion and bear, was a pointed hole, but at the nape of its elongated neck were shoulder guards. The designer meant for the user to wear it upon his head. It would take someone of considerable strength to heft that monster into battle.

"It must be some kind of armor," Kirra mumbled and turned to see Katrina inspecting the kiln from which the sparks and smoke had issued. Lazy fingers of smoke continued to rise in the wake of the semi-explosion.

"Smells like sulfur," the scribe said.

"Stands to reason after what Hercules and I saw last night."

"What?" Katrina's eyes brows peaked in curiosity.

"We were on the city street after dark. We snuck in after curfew, and in the distance, we saw this great ball of fire streak into the night sky."

"It came from here?" The scribe removed her parchment and quill from her leather satchel and began taking notes once again.

"In this general direction, yes." Kirra pointed to the flue situated above the kiln. "I surmise it came from there. The strange thing is, no one in town reacted to it. No one but me."

Katrina had a pleasant image of the girl screaming her lungs out and waking every sleeping resident of Chalcis, and catching the attention of the ever-present soldiers roaming the streets.

"If my understanding of people is on the money," Katrina said, "and it usually is, the king has every person in this city subjugated. According to my sources in town, the curfews began not long after Daedalus arrived. Nikolos isn't trying to keep his inventor a secret, only what he's inventing. If your friend Hercules is right, then the king has Daedalus wrapped so tightly around his finger even his half-god strength won't be able to pry him lose." Katrina paused and a smile swept slowly across her face. "But, I don't think you're half as concerned about the inventor as you are about something else."

Kirra turned away from the scribe's prying eyes and laid her hand upon the tongs the workman had left behind.

"Come now, Kirra," Katrina said. "Don't play coy with me. I watched you searching this part of the city. A girl your age doesn't frequent taverns unless she has other business there, and you don't seem like the type. What were you hoping to see when you looked through the window, and what's in the palace you're so desperate to find? Or should I be asking _who_?"

Kirra barely gave the scribe a chance to finish her question. She picked up the tongs, grabbed a hot coal and tossed it over Katrina's head. It had the intended result. Katrina ducked, thinking Kirra had lost all her marbles at once, and the coal met its mark—right on the forehead of the steel beast. The clank it sent through the building could easily be heard from the street.

" _Are you crazy?"_ Katrina hissed from her position crouched on the ground.

"No," Kirra said, the sound she had dreaded to hear moments before now filling her with hope. "In fact, I'm quite sane."

Katrina was quick to react to the sound of guards racing to the lab. She gained her feet and marched to Kirra's side. "You could have fooled me!"

Kirra laughed. "Whoever it is I'm looking for, it's no business of yours. I know you have no intention of helping me get into the palace. So, I'm making you help me."

" _Making me?"_ Katrina said, eyeing the window behind them. "Just how do you intend to do that?"

"In a few moments, the guards will come rushing through that door, and when they do, you'd best be ready to do some tall talking. I'm sure you're as good at it as I am. Or else, we'll both end up the king's prisoner."

No sooner than Kirra's final word, the double doors to Daedalus's lab burst opened and the two guards rushed in. Luck did not grant them the convenience of guards as dimwitted as the spears in their hands. The scarred oaf and his younger companion spotted the two women within seconds cowering behind the inventor's worktable. There was no time to hide or jump out the window. Spears with points as sharpened as brand new swords met their sensitive flesh.

They were trapped, and that's exactly how Kirra wanted it.

* * *

 **Interesting fact : Since I could not find an ancient Greek city named Katea, I based it upon an actual city in Sicily named Catania. It does sit under the shadow of Mount Aetna (or Etna, as it is spelled today), it was overthrown numerous times throughout history and it is associated with the mythic legend of Amphinomus and Anapias.**

 **In Chapter 8, Kirra and Katrina find themselves being carted off to the meet King Nikolos, and Falafel makes an appearance.**


	8. Chapter 8

_**Kirra's Journey**_

 **Episode 3 – Outsider Looking In  
**

* * *

 _Chapter 8_

"What are the two of you doing in here?" The older guard's face was as ugly as the armor he wore, and the scowl deepening the scar didn't make him any prettier.

Katrina was of a mind to toss Kirra at their feet and let them have at her. It would serve her right for getting them into this predicament. This had been her plan all along. Get the gullible scribe to do her dirty work long enough to get them captured, so she could get inside the palace. The sneaky little…

Kirra was right, though. Katrina had no intentions of helping the conniving little witch into the palace in the first place. She had no reason to. The story was out here!

All the same, the girl's plan was a brilliant one, worthy of imitation in the future. Kirra knew what she was doing. The only way out for Katrina was to play the scribe and get the guards to bring them willingly to the king. If it weren't that she kind of liked the idea of getting a firsthand scoop from the man who had tamed the famous inventor, she might have left Kirra behind to suffer her well-deserved fate. As it was…

"Speak, woman!"

"Now now, gentlemen. There's no need for violence," she cooed while Kirra played her part, cowering and crying behind her like a child hiding behind her mother's skirts. The girl was a smart one; Katrina had to give her that.

Katrina made a show of returning her quill and parchment to her leather satchel, assuring them she was unarmed. She took the points of their spears and pinched them between her thumb and forefinger, carefully repositioning them away from her throat. (Kirra had stealthily avoided the point of the second spear by hiding behind Katrina's shoulder, the shameless twit.)

"Don't let them kill us," Kirra said.

Her voice muffled with manufactured tears, Katrina couldn't tell if they were fake or real.

"Nobody's killing anybody, _yet_ ," the scarred one said. "Now tell us how you got in here."

Kirra eyed the guards over Katrina's shoulder. The older one was the same guard who had shooed her from the laboratory earlier in the day. She wasn't sure about the younger one as she hadn't paid him much mind before, but he was a darn sight prettier than his commanding officer, despite his elongated nose. Her staring caught his attention and he returned it too keenly for Kirra's comfort. Just when she thought his stare held some deeper meaning, he redirected to Katrina in a rather distressing expression of recognition.

He pointed at her. "Hey," he said. "Aren't you the scribe? The one who questioned Daeda— Datal— the inventor?"

Kirra nearly gave herself away with a sigh. Why are all the pretty ones only as intelligent as milking cows? Oh well, the less intelligent were easier to dupe. Not that Katrina would know the difference. She didn't seem concerned with whether the younger guard's cuteness was adequate for swindling. She had found a fan.

"Yes!" she said, giving him her best and yet, professional smile. "Katrina of Katea. Have you heard of me?"

"You bet I have," he said. "You're pretty famous, aren't you?"

"Well, maybe a little," Katrina gushed. "What's the last article of mine you've read?"

The uglier one gave his young charge a punch in the arm to quiet him. "This one is too stupid to read. Now, who in Tartarus are you?"

Katrina forced her smile to remain, miffed the boy had led her to believe he'd read her work. "I told you already. The name is Katrina, of Katea, in case you hadn't heard."

"And who's she?" Scarface asked, pointing the end of his spear at Kirra.

"Oh, her?" Katrina swatted a hand at him as if she might swat away his concern. "Don't mind her. She's my slave."

 _Slave?_ Kirra gave the scribe's ribs a quick pinch and the guards cast them curious glances when Katrina cried out. It hadn't taken a mind reader for Kirra to figure out the scribe's vindictive thoughts. She would likely pay for the pinch at some point in the future, but for now, revenge felt pretty good.

Katrina laughed it off. "I have a real pain in the neck. Nothing to worry about … _yet_." She added the latter under her breath.

"So, you _are_ a scribe," Scarface continued, feigning an interest where none existed. "Who cares! What are you doing in the inventor's shop?"

Katrina frowned at him. "Looking for a story, of course. And from what I hear, there's a pretty good one brewing here in Euboea. A city under siege from surrounding villages, an inventor who's lost his only son, and a King sending a commission of help, not only to get the inventor's mind away from his son's death, but to protect his people. And it's the people who love to read about such heroics. King Nikolos must be a great man."

"He is," the guard said, but she hadn't softened him any. He sneered and thrust his spear closer to her throat. "But it still doesn't tell me what you're doing in here?"

Katrina pushed it away this time. "Gathering information," she said, using Kirra's explanation, "for my once in a lifetime story about the bond between an inventor and his King."

The guard gave her a hard look.

Katrina smirked. "Well the door _was_ open…"

Setting his spear down, the guard brought his ugly mug closer. His breath wasn't any better. "You want a story, scribe lady?"

Katrina did her best to nod enthusiastically while holding her breath. Scarface gave her a greasy smile, showing her teeth that hadn't known the color white in a long time. It wasn't a happy smile, either. He had her by the arm and was leading her out the open door, leaving Kirra to the younger guard, before she had a chance to catch her breath.

"Since you seem so interested in the king," he said. "Let's see if you can get a story from King Nikolos himself."

"Oh, what an honor. Thank you!"

"Ten minutes from now, we'll see if you'll still want to thank me."

Katrina tossed a worried look behind her to Kirra, who continued to play the frightened slave girl. Kirra had wanted more than to pinch the scribe for pushing her into a lowly position and potentially messing up her plan, but now that she had time to think about it, the slave idea wasn't a bad one. She could play it up easily (and she was; her tears seemed to be working wonders on the younger guard) and if she played her cards right, she might get thrown in with the other palace slaves. From there, she could escape and restart her investigation. The tricky part would be to find out where blacksmiths hang out in a royal palace.

* * *

The trek up to the top of the hill wasn't feasible by foot. Kirra and Katrina soon found themselves within a prisoner's wagon, sharing the space with the younger guard who was given strict instructions not to converse with his prisoners. They made the ride in silence…

Most of it, anyway. Strict instructions didn't mean the two of them couldn't work another sort of magic on him.

Kirra maintained her frightened slave routine. "Are you going to hurt us?"

The guard sat between them, gritting his teeth. "Please do not speak."

And Katrina played her part, which was to ignore rules and do as she pleased, while charming the guard into doing whatever she wanted him to do.

"Of course, they're not going to hurt us, slave girl," Katrina said, playing up her self-importance a bit much in Kirra's view. "I'm Katrina of Katea. I have very powerful friends in very high places."

" _Please_ do not speak to each other."

Katrina swatted him on the leg. "Oh, don't be such a fuss. I'm sure you don't listen to every single rule that lap dog gives you."

The guard blanched. "That lap dog happens to be my commanding offic—" He caught himself and shook his head. "I'm not to speak to you."

"Are you always this uptight? You should loosen up. You're in the service of the great King Nikolos. You should be proud."

He turned a frown to her. "Proud?"

"What's your name, young man?"

He sighed. "Benjamin, and I'm not proud." He turned away, not able to look Katrina in the eye. "You don't know King Nikolos. He likes showing people who the _great king_ is in special and unique ways."

Katrina eyed Kirra over the bridge of the guard's long nose. She could have let this information stumble her, but she tucked it away and forgot about it until a time it might be more useful. In the meantime, she gave the guard a reassuring pat on the arm.

"Ben, I think you've got it all wrong. I've been in this business a long time, and I know royalty. They might talk a big talk, but when it comes to publicity, they eat that kind of thing up. Trust me, we'll be fine."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah, take it from one who knows. However, if we do happen to…say…run into some trouble, you'll take care of my slave girl, won't you? See to it she gets out safely?"

When the guard turned his head to look at Katrina, Kirra shot her a worrying glance over his shoulder. _What?_ she mouthed. Had she not already appeared worried, the guard's return glance in her direction might have ended the whole farce, but she played it up, generating a few tears for his sympathy.

"Please, don't let them hurt me."

"I…" he began. "Well, I guess it couldn't hurt." He turned back to Katrina. "But I'm sure you'll be fine. We shouldn't have to worry. Besides, we're almost there, so we should just be quiet."

Kirra watched the guard drop his head in hands and mutter incoherently. He was easy. Too easy. The guard in Prince Pervia's dungeon had nothing on this guy. Over his lowered head, Kirra threw Katrina a questioning glare, but Katrina only smiled. She wanted to scream at her, _What are you up to?_ She had basically ensured this pathetic man would be at her side at every second. Now, she would have to find some way to ditch him.

She would have landed back in her seat with a huff were it not for their current situation, so she sat back and hugged herself in feigned fear. Out the window, she tried to distract her fretted mind with the scenery running past her view. The closer they drew to the palace, the grander the sights. Rustic adobe homes swathed in trees hugged the hillside alongside shops of finer design than the ones within the city. The obtuse clothing shop owner she'd taken the cloak from must be terribly jealous not to have moved up to a shop in this part of Chalcis. The temples here were of an opulent design, as well, far different from any of the ones downhill.

Take the one coming up, for example. Sculpted in marble of the most intricate design, it had tall columns, peaked roofs and enough naked statues to embarrass a prostitute. Kirra had no idea to which deity it belonged, as she had not frequented a temple in her life, and yet it had a certain pull which even she could not deny. Perhaps it was merely a desire to know what went on inside (though, Mother had once told her there wasn't anything of merit in a god or goddess's temple that a young girl needed to know about) or perhaps it was a desire to explore.

Whatever the reason, her eyes would not leave its sight, and that's how she saw the woman seated on its steps. There were other people coming and going from the temple, but none of them were staring pointedly at her as this woman was. She wore white, and a white hood covered her golden hair. Yet upon her cheeks and forehead was an iridescence Kirra had never seen the likes of before. She glowed with the radiance of sunlight, but the sun had not shown its bright face since the day before. How could she have the brilliance of the sun?

Kirra's eyes followed her even as they continued on. She couldn't help but twist her head out of the window and in the final moments before trees and people and other buildings blocked her from Kirra's view, the woman smiled and raised her hand.

Kirra sat back in her seat, transfixed. No one else had seen her. Of that, she was sure. Katrina stared out the window on her side and the young guard (Benjamin, she thought he said his name was) was busy chastising himself for not being able to control two unruly women. But there was something else Kirra was certain of—the people on the street hadn't seen the woman either. People had walked passed her, behind her, beside her, but not one of them had looked at her.

The wagon slowed and came to a stop. The window now displayed the palace looming over them. Kirra forgot the woman on the steps of the palace. She had more important things to consider.

"We're here," the guard said. "Now, don't speak unless you're spoken to."

They were ushered from the wagon as Benjamin the guard explained his destination to the men on duty, giving them the orders from his commanding officer. He shuffled on his feet, swallowing frequently, not as confident in himself as he'd been when he held a spear to their throats.

Katrina, standing in front of her, her head angled slightly. "Follow my lead, all right."

"Not as if I have a choice," Kirra whispered. "When you mess up my plans, I'll see you in the dungeon."

Katrina hid a smile. "Remember, this was your idea, not mine."

"Then, why am I following your lead?"

"Because, the king's little buddy saw you with Hercules." A guard looked at them and Katrina quieted, lowering her eyes until he lost interest. Then she continued. "The king might know you're with Hercules, so you need to stay out of sight. Being my slave girl is the best diversion. That one over there," she said, indicating Benjamin with a nod, "is gullible. You'll be able to get out of his clutches in time to find who you're looking for. Just promise me one thing."

"What's that?"

"If we get out of this, you tell me who this person is."

Kirra weighed her options. The scribe was helping her, but she was also inherently more concerned about herself. She wanted her story and she would do whatever it took to get it. Still, she was sticking her neck out there to protect her, and protect Hercules by extension. If the king knew she were in his palace, he could use her against Hercules, and Daedalus, too, if Hercules had gotten the chance to speak to him.

Kirra sighed. "Okay. Deal."

Katrina gave one nod and then they both went quiet.

Having obtained his clearance, Benjamin took up a position behind them. "Let's move," he said with an authoritative voice he hadn't used before. Kirra hoped it was for show.

Benjamin led them from the overcast day into the darkened night of the palace's interior. Down long corridors lit with the light of torches and up winding stairs, he led them without much conversation to the palace's loftiest of heights. Here, where open windows let in the muted light of day, is where Kirra assumed King Nikolos must reside. Benjamin was sure to halt before the final leg of their long and tiring journey.

"Okay," he said, as winded as they were.

 _He must not make the trip up here often,_ Kirra thought.

"We're about to enter the king's wing." He paused as he contemplated how to phrase his words. Eventually, he gave up and asked Katrina, "What do you want me to do?"

Katrina gave him her best smile and patted his arm again as one might pat a dog's head when he's been a good boy. "You're doing a great job, Ben. Don't you worry. I'll see to it you're rewarded highly. Now, here's the plan." She stuck out her right arm. "You're the soldier. Take me by the arm and lead me to the king as a soldier would. I don't care if you have to shove me into the room like a common criminal."

"Are you serious? I couldn't do that."

"Sure you can. Unless you want to wind up in the dungeon, a traitor to King Nikolos?"

He gave an understanding nod. "You're right. But what about her?" He nodded to Kirra.

"What about her? She's a slave. She'll do what slaves do best. Now take me to the king!"

Pursing his lips, he cast a guarded glance at Kirra, but nonetheless took Katrina's arm and dragged her in the direction of the king's wing. Katrina looked back to mouth the word, _GO_ , and then she and the guard were out of sight.

 _Smart woman!_ Kirra thought. Maybe she was right to trust her, after all. They thought so much alike it was almost scary.

Now that she was alone, Kirra took a deep breath. This was it, her final chance to uncover the truth and lay to rest her fears … or confirm them. She didn't know which was worse, finding her stepfather in the bowels of the king's palace or explaining it to Hercules when they met back up with each other. _If_ they met back up with each other.

It wouldn't be long before the young guard came to look for her. She drew the cloak's hood over her head and tightened its robes about her. Kirra blended into the darkness and disappeared.

* * *

Since the start of this little journey into Chalcis, Hercules had been on his guard and concerned for his friend. Now, he'd moved closer to rectifying the problem. Daedalus seemed to be coming to his senses, seeing the error of his ways. Sure, Hercules would probably have to settle scores with Nikolos before he could get Daedalus back home to Crete. He could handle him. Nikolos might be King of Euboea, but he didn't hold the glory he once had in the old days. Society had shamed him not long after they had praised his victory. Struggle Nikolos might to regain his former glory, but he would not achieve it. Not if Hercules had anything to say about it. Besides, Hercules had a more immediate problem to deal with—Kirra. He couldn't find her.

After parting ways with Daedalus, he'd made his way back to the tavern he and Kirra had shared lunch in. He hadn't expected to find her there (he'd left with Perdix hours ago to meet with Nikolos), but he thought it best to try there first. No worries, he headed back to the inn, solid in his thoughts that he would find her waiting for him there, but the old woman who ran the place said she hadn't seen her since the morning. Hercules had left the inn worried more for Kirra than he was for Daedalus. If Nikolos knew someone had accompanied him on this trip into Chalcis, he wouldn't hesitate to use her against him. Nikolos was thoughtful that way.

Hercules had one other place he could look—the market. Remembering back to their time together in Attilas, Kirra had been fascinated with the market there. She had a curiosity hard to satiate, an indelible love for things knew and unexplored, as well as a penchant for spending money she didn't have. They hadn't made it as far into Chalcis as the markets. Perhaps she went there to explore while she waited. Hercules headed in that direction.

He found the market by way of an interconnecting tunnel of arches that ran beneath the stone buildings of the city. An interesting design he was sure had fascinated Daedalus on his first day here. Kirra as well, no doubt. Hercules felt sure he would find her sampling food or rummaging through fabric skeins, but when he entered the market, her head of yellow curls did not stand out to him.

Vendors offered him their wares as he passed. Hercules declined, moving through the crowd in search of a familiar face. Worry was quickly transforming into distress when a foul-smelling odor reached his nose from one of the vendor's stands. Something with the consistency of sewage water boiled in a kettle over a fire pit. Hercules was hungry, but he wasn't _that_ hungry.

Face scrunched up in disgust, he approached the scraggly vendor. "What is that stuff?"

"Boiled sea serpent," said a familiarly accented voice. "Puts hairs on your chest!"

The man turned to face him with a tooth-stained smile, pointy and disheveled beard splattered with melted lard and bits of food, but when his eyes met those of Hercules, his smile faded. _Wait a minute,_ Hercules thought, his eyes narrowing. There was something vaguely familiar about the face behind that dump of a beard. The vendor clearly had the same thought for his eyes widened and he turned quickly away.

"Not that you need any, of course," he continued on in a strangely familiar accent. It was the one thing about him he couldn't hide. "But, you should see the way it works on one of the guards around here."

"Do I know you?" Hercules asked. The man refused to turn around, so he peered over his shoulder. "Sure I do! It's Falafel." His wasn't the familiar face he was looking for, but it was good to see someone he knew. Hercules poked at his dirty, fake beard and laughed. "What's with the beard?"

Though he smiled, Falafel showed his first real hint of concern. "Please," he said, swatting at Hercules's hand. "I owe people money for a taco franchise!"

"Franchise?"

Hercules sighed. He should have known. Falafel, like his other friend Salmoneus, was ever in search of his illusive lost love—the almighty dinar. Though, unlike Salmoneus, Falafel didn't think as broadmindedly. All that was secondary, though. Hercules had more important questions.

"What's a taco?"

Falafel frowned. " _'What's a taco?'_ Seriously, you've never had a taco?"

Hercules shook his head, glad to have his mind on other business.

"Warm flatbread," Falafel told him, his hands preparing the dish in mid-air as though he were standing in front of an oven. "Stuffed with cooked meat and whatever toppings you might like, folded over and eaten like a sandwich."

"Hmm," Hercules said, feeling a grumbling in his stomach at the thought. "Sounds good."

"It is. Got the idea from a friend of mine." Falafel's proud smile dropped. "But he got me involved in this ridiculous franchise business and I lost everything. Now, I owe him money for the product I purchased."

Hercules shrugged. "Why don't you make your own tacos and sell them throughout Euboea? You'll probably make enough to pay off your debts and turn a profit to boot."

"Ah, I knew today would be my lucky day," he said, showing Hercules all of his nice, brown teeth. "You're a smart man, Hercules."

"Nah, it's just a thought. Even you couldn't screw that up."

Falafel's stained smile faltered for a second, but he perked right up with a fresh idea. "Hey, I have a special! For my _special_ friend." He pulled a wire basket from a kettle of boiling oil. "Eyes and Fries!"

Hercules eyed the contents of the basket and lost his appetite. "You weren't kidding." Goat's eyes, red and crispy, sat alongside wedges of potato. Hercules felt sick.

"For you, Hercules, dinar ninety-five!"

"Uh … no thanks. I just ate. But I could use your help. I'm looking for a girl."

Falafel turned back to his station with a laugh. "Aren't we all!"

"No, it's not like that. She's a friend of mine. Maybe you've seen her. She's about this tall." Hercules raised an arm into the air, though Falafel was paying much attention. His gaze had gone past Hercules's shoulder. "She's young, blonde, curly hair, she loves to explore and try new things, and she asks _a lot_ of questions."

Falafel hadn't heard a word Hercules had said. In fact, his gaze had climbed upward until he stared pointedly at something behind him. It wasn't Falafel's wide-eyed fear which made Hercules turn. It was the thundering sound of a giant's footsteps quaking the ground beneath his feet that did it.

Falafel pointed, fear in his eyes, just before he ran. Hercules knew better than to think this was Typhon coming to say hello. In the city of Chalcis, it could only mean one thing—Nikolos had come to cash in on his revenge, and he knew better than to do so in hand to hand combat. On his own, he didn't have what it took to defeat Hercules, but he did have one weapon Hercules lacked.

Daedalus and his inventions. Hercules turned and faced the inevitable.

* * *

 **Hope you enjoyed it. In Chapter 9, Kirra goes on the hunt to find her stepfather, but finds someone she doesn't expect.**


	9. Chapter 9

_**Kirra's Journey**_

 **Episode 3 – Outsider Looking In  
**

* * *

 _Chapter 9_

The blacksmith shop turned out to be harder to find than Kirra would have hoped. There was no stopping to ask for directions here. She followed her nose. The smell of soot and coal was not new to her. (Hiram had reeked of it, ale, and body odor every time he came home.) The difficulty was her lack of knowledge. She knew nothing of the layout of castles. Common sense told her she would find it on a lower floor, and that's where she went.

Luck was on her side for once. She had to slink past guards and double back through numerous corridors, but she made her way outside the castle to find an open set of double iron doors. Based on the soot marks streaked at the arched apex, a minimal amount of smoke billowed past these doors, as was a minimal amount of noise. She heard nothing, in point of fact, coming from within the blacksmith shop. Her other problem was the guards posted on either side of the entrance.

Kirra ducked back behind the buttress she'd been hiding behind. Another waiting game. There wasn't time to sit around, hoping he might pop out from within the shop. If Hiram were nothing but a figment, she could be caught loitering about the castle and Hercules would have to waste his time rescuing her, potentially ruining his chances of helping his friend. Why didn't she think these ridiculous escapades out before barreling headlong into them?

A voice called out. Kirra tensed and peered cautiously around the edge of the buttress.

"You two," shouted a third guard standing on the far side of the building. With a brandished sword in one hand, he waved the other two toward him with other. "This way! We've got trouble." The two watching over the entrance girded themselves, spears in hand. They followed after the third soldier around the corner and out of sight. Kirra could not believe her good luck. It was almost too perfect.

She might have smiled, but this was her moment of truth, her denouement, as it were. What if Hiram was inside, mallet within his grimy hands, pounding out and shaping a red-hot iron sword? What exactly did she think she would do?

With a deep breath, Kirra slipped around the buttress. She clung with her back to the stone wall, making herself as small as she possibly could in case the two guards returned from whatever trouble they had found. Whether they stayed or returned, she would find trouble either way. Trouble was nothing new. She frequently found herself knee-deep in the stuff at home. If she hadn't gotten her chores done as Hiram liked them or her ill-tempered and troublesome mouth spoke more than it should have, she would feel the brunt of her stepfather's rage as she had the last time she saw him, the night Hercules came unsuccessfully to her rescue.

 _Tell Kirra I said to be brave. Right now, the only hero she has is herself._ Kirra heard the voice of Hercules from that night like a whisper in her ear. She'd heard it every night since. It had become a mantra for her life. _The only hero I have is myself_. Every time she said or wrote it on a piece of parchment, she felt not alone and unprotected, but empowered, imbued with the strength of one thousand Olympian gods.

 _Don't worry, Hercules. I can promise you she'll hear from me._ Kirra did more than hear from Hiram. That night she had been as weak and helpless as a newborn child. Her inner strength was but a burgeoning fire, smoldering behind a veil of fear. Not a veil, but chainmail, riveted and hammered in place by Hiram himself. Her fear of him and a semi-unconscious state had rooted her to the bed. Some disconnected part of herself saw him remove the sash from around his waist. It told her he would only wrap it around her neck and choke her out of this meaningless life, but another part of her, the part that remembered his groping hands, screamed at her to wake up, screamed at her to get moving, to kick, to punch, to do whatever she must to get away from him. But she had nothing to offer the screaming voice. Even as his hands gripped her legs and the hem of her skirt found its way around her waist, she could not fight him. That night, Kirra had given up.

Until the sound of her mother's scream filled the bedroom. She could remember a flash of metal, the sight of a knife in Hiram's back and the scent of blood. In the overcast light of this day in Chalcis, it was all Kirra wanted to remember. She preferred the feel of the stone wall against the palms of her hands, the smell of coal coming from the blacksmith shop as she drew closer, and the sound of birds in the trees nearby. These sensations she allowed to overwhelm her until the past was once again obliterated.

Kirra did not let herself think. She did not let herself breathe. She stood next to the opening knowing where in a mere matter of seconds she might see the man who had tortured her and her mother for years. She had no weapon, no way to defend herself. But she was not the Kirra he once knew, and no matter what, she would make him pay…

Kirra stepped into the blacksmith shop.

Inside, the kiln built into the far wall smoldered with the ashes of coal. The anvil stood alone with its hammer resting atop it, and the bellow sat against the kiln, deflated. The shop was empty save for herself. Kirra knew she should feel relief, perhaps even comforted there was no one here, but she could feel nothing but disheartened.

A flash of light momentarily brightened the room. Kirra's first thought was to check behind her, a stab of fear at the thought he might have snuck up behind her.

A voice filled the room, putting those fears to rest. "He's not here, Kirra. You can stop worrying."

The voice was that of a woman, not the gruff voice of Hiram or even a soldier. Kirra followed the sound of the voice until _she_ appeared. From behind a wooden shelf full of tools came the woman Kirra had seen on the steps of the temple. She shined as radiantly as before. Even within the blacksmith shop, she was brighter than the day outside. Kirra could only wish to be so beautiful.

"Who are you? How did you get here? Are you following me?"

The woman in white let out a giggle which didn't befit her celestial appearance. "You could say that. I've been watching you. I'm interested in you." At Kirra's frown, she quickly amended, "Not that way. I guess you could say I'm interested in where you're going."

Befuddled, Kirra said, "Where I'm going? Nowhere but the dungeon once the guards find us."

"Don't worry about them, either. They're going to be busy for a while."

" _Who are you?_ "

The woman in white crossed her arms and smiled. "Well, I could tell you my real name, but I don't think you'd believe me. Besides, today I've decided to take on the role of Clotho." She gave herself a spin in the shadowy semi-darkness of the blacksmith shop, fully revealing her maidenly attire. "What do you think? Do I look the part?"

"Who is Clotho?"

The woman in white set her hands up on her hips in a less than maidenly way. "You know, one of the three Fates, the one who spins the thread of human life."

"Oh, _that_ Clotho. Are you off to a costume party, then?"

Another giggle from the woman. Kirra was beginning to wonder if every word that came from her mouth was worthy of one.

"Sure, King Nikolos throws a mean party," she said, with raised eyebrows as though she knew something of the king Kirra didn't. "No, Sweetpea, it's kind of a midlife crisis thing. I've given the god of music's gig a try, and I've even gone a whirl as the goddess of the hunt." The giggle returned momentarily. "Picked up a personal trainer for that one, but … eh, it's not my curve. So, I'm giving this a try. And so far, I'm liking it, except for that whole spinning the thread bit. I wasn't expecting there to be actual work involved. Oh well, you can't have everything. Right? Kind of like the man you came here looking for."

The woman's appearance and her utter lack of propriety, so confounded Kirra she was on the verge of leaving the shop and running back to where she had come from. Then she, whoever she was, went and said _that_. Confounded was no longer the word.

"How do you know who I'm looking for?"

She shrugged. "Just because I haven't been doing the fate thing for long, doesn't mean I haven't learned a thing or two. Lachesis and Atropos showed me your lifeline."

"Lachesis?"

"The Measurer."

"Atropos?"

"The Cutter of life's thread. Oh, but you won't have to worry about her. Not for a long time."

Kirra's legs had begun to feel like wilted carrots. Understanding was beginning to dawn like the early morning sun and she wasn't sure she liked where it was going. Yes, Hercules was half god. His unbelievable strength was evidence of that. But this woman couldn't be … could she?

"You—you can't be … a goddess?"

"Told you you wouldn't believe."

And like a foal finding its feet, Kirra's legs went out from under her. The next thing she knew, she was sitting in a chair and the woman claiming to be Clotho the Spinner was kneeling before her, lightly smacking her cheek.

"Come on, now. Wakey-wakey, Sweetpea. That's it. There you are."

Kirra blinked, focusing her blurry vision on the woman before her. She hadn't changed any. She was as brilliant and beautiful as she was before Kirra fainted, however long ago it was. The location hadn't changed either. They were still inside the soot streaked blacksmith shop. Any minute now, the guards would come back and find them here, only Kirra wondered if they would find her talking to no one but herself.

"Are you okay?" the woman asked.

"Yes, I'm fine. Did I—?"

"Faint? Yep, like a flower."

This close, the woman in white looked as real as Katrina. Light reflected in her eyes the same as any other person. Kirra touched a strand of the woman's golden hair. It felt no different than her own.

"Trust me, it's real," the woman said. She had dispensed with the giggles, at least for now. "I'm real, too, and I know you have a lot of questions, but I don't have a lot of time. I've got a situation going with your buddy, who fancies himself The Golden Hunter."

"Who?"

"Nevermind. Look, the thing is, you're going about this the wrong way."

"Don't speak in riddles, please. I'm going about _what_ the wrong way?"

"Your destiny. Your stepfather isn't here."

"How do you know—?"

"I know about Hiram. I told you, I've been watching you. I've taken an interest in you."

 _You said that already,_ Kirra wanted to say, but she couldn't speak. Tears were busy threatening to burst like a rain shower. It wasn't that this woman seemed to know about Hiram, or even that she knew Kirra had spent most of the day in search of him throughout the city of Chalcis. No, Kirra heard only this: _"Your stepfather isn't here."_ What could it mean?

"Is he … is he alive?"

The woman saddened at the sight of Kirra's tears, but she was hesitant to answer the question.

"I _saw_ him," Kirra persisted. "I need to know. Is he alive?"

The woman who would be Clotho exhaled a heavy sigh, but she gave Kirra a smile nonetheless, a smile which could warm even the iciest of hearts. "You have bigger things a head of you, Kirra. You're wasting your time looking for revenge. Chasing after a ghost isn't a part of your destiny."

Kirra realized then that she didn't want revenge. She wanted closure. She wanted to look Hiram in the eye and ask him why. He might have beaten her with his mallet until life ran from her like water from a well, but she would still have asked. She and Mother were happy before he came. There were difficulties, but she knew they could have seen through them. Now they were forever separated, and she was the responsible one. She was Atropos, the one who had cut the thread of their life together. Kirra dropped her head in her hands and began to cry.

The woman touched warm fingers to her chin and lifted her tear stained face. "Don't blame yourself for the choices you've had to make. Mortal life is full of difficult choices." She smirked and stared into a thought unknown to Kirra. "Immortal life is, too." She looked back at Kirra. "You'll have other hard choices to make in the future. Don't question them. They will lead you to where you're going."

"What is my destiny?"

The woman in white rose to her full height nearly blinding Kirra in her radiance. "Well, if I told you it wouldn't be a destiny then, would it?"

Kirra shrugged. "I guess not."

"Now go," she said, pointing to the exit. "Hercules is in trouble. You need to go to him."

The woman turned toward the wooden shelf she had appeared from, but Kirra stopped her. "But where? How do I find him?"

"No worries. You will. He really cares about you, you know. Don't let him down."

Kirra nodded, in awe and yet perplexed with this woman. The woman in white smiled once more, and raised her hand as she had on the steps of the temple.

"Wait!" Kirra called. "Who are you?"

She giggled once more. "Toodles!"

And in a flash of light, she disappeared. Kirra stood transfixed, staring at the place she had been standing where now only a faint and quickly dissipating glitter remained in the air. Her legs lost their strength once more and she found herself back in the chair, trying to make sense of it. Hiram was now the farthest thing from her mind, as was the past. She saw now only the future and what it might bring, especially with Hercules. What did she mean by, _He really cares about you_? And worse yet, how was he in trouble?

Kirra, befuddled with worries and questions, didn't hear the approaching footsteps or see the figure darkening the entrance to the blacksmith shop.

"There you are!"

But the voice nearly launched her from the seat. Shadows obscured the face of an armored guard standing in the doorway. Time to speak up or risk finding the end of a spear protruding from her back.

"I—I'm lost," she said, wiping away the remainder of her tears. "I've become separated from my tour group and I don't—"

"Tour group? We don't have tour groups! You and your friend aren't playing me anymore."

The guard walked into the light and revealed himself to be Benjamin, Katrina's little guard toy. Yet, this wasn't the same dim-witted young man who had curried the scribe's favor or begged them for silence inside the prisoner's wagon. The person who stood before her, hard-faced and intractable, was not the gullible guard he played to perfection, but a soldier to the king who was done being made a fool of.

"I—" Kirra began.

"Don't," he said, taking rigid steps toward her. "Zeus only knows how long I've been looking for you, _slave girl_. Are you trying to get me drawn and quartered?"

Kirra backed behind the chair, debating whether she should pick it up and use it as a shield. "No. I'm sorry. Please, you have to help me."

"How stupid do you think I am? What are you playing at?"

"Nothing," she pleaded, but the innocent slave girl routine had run its course and Benjamin was having none of it. He reached behind the chair, grasped her arm and pulled her toward the exit. He peered to the left and to the right before leading her out of the blacksmith shop and out in to the light of day.

"Where are you taking me?"

"Keep your voice down," he said in a harsh whisper.

He held her in a grip impossible to free herself from, leading her beyond the buttress to the door she'd exited from some time ago. The gods only knew how long. From there, they returned to the darkness of the palace, twisting and turning down pathways Kirra had not delved in her effort to find the blacksmith shop. As he turned down one corridor, Kirra caught a quick glimpse of several guards standing at the door to the only exit she'd seen since they entered the building.

This was it, then. He would lead her toward them, announce her as an uninvited guest, an infiltrator, and thus would end her first trip to the capital city of Euboea. She would wreck Hercules's chances of rescuing his friend. He would leave empty-handed and it would be because of her rash and foolish actions.

Nevertheless, Kirra recalled the words of the woman in white, not to question the choices she made. If that were the case, then she should not begrudge her choice to search for her stepfather. There was a reason behind it. But, how to convince Benjamin?

She didn't need to. As it turned out, Benjamin wasn't interested in conversing with his fellow soldiers. He stopped cold and turned abruptly back the way they came, urgently ushering her into the first door he could find, a supply closet stuffed with worn linens and drab fleece blankets.

Inside the confined space, their hushed breaths mingling while footsteps sounded past them in the hallway, Kirra experienced a strange sensation. There was something eerily familiar about this. It wasn't merely the confinement of the closet. It was Benjamin's presence and the silent expectation of danger lurking outside.

"So, you _are_ trying to protect me," she said once the sounds outside the door had quieted.

He lowered his head to hers, but there was nothing amorous about the look in his eyes. "I may not be able to read, but I've seen someone drawn and quartered here before. It's not a pretty sight, and the sound of their screams is not something you'd want to hear twice in one lifetime."

He did not need to go into detail. The truth of what he had witnessed reflected in his dark eyes. It was a punishment intended for people found guilty of high treason. If the stories Hercules told her about Nikolos were true, she had no doubt the king had used it effectively on more than one occasion. Fear, not for herself but for Katrina, had tripled.

"Where is Katrina?"

"The scribe is with the king, and she'll be lucky if she doesn't get what's coming to her."

"She was only trying to help me. I was looking for someone, but he's not here. You cannot let him hurt her. Please."

Kirra watched his anger melt and he turned away with a heavy sigh, rubbing his temples in frustration. She had been honest with him. Surely, he was not so hardheaded he couldn't see it. He removed his helmet, black shoulder length hair spilling from inside. Kirra watched him toss it on top of a pile of blankets as if it were no better than the dirt covering the stone-tiled floor.

"There's nothing I can do for her now," Benjamin said.

He turned to her, the face she had seen only in the helmet now wholly different. It was a face both familiar and yet unknown to her, and he knew it would be.

Barely breathing, she asked, "Do I know you?"

He shook his head, disappointment stained like ink upon his face. "I promised you a long time ago I would protect you, Kirra. I don't forget my promises."

Memories came to Kirra as swift as the birds fly. His was a face she had not seen in many years. His family had left Endor years before she had, but Kirra _did_ know him. They had been friends, spent time together as children playing in the woods around Endor or sneaking sweets from the baker in the market when no one was looking. She had been thirteen, and he maybe a year or two older. Hiram hated him, chased him away whenever he could. She had made a friend and he couldn't stand to see anyone within his circle of control happy. Her last good memory of him was stealing apples from Old Lady Kora's tree. Hiram had caught them and chased them clear out of town where they hid in a hollowed out tree in the woods. Her stepfather hadn't found them then, but she could remember hearing the sound of his feet crunching through dead leaves, and his heavy breathing. That was the last time she had ever seen the boy she had once known as Benny. Hiram had terrified him into staying away.

"Benny?"

He nodded. "You've forgotten too quickly, Kirra."

"It was a long time ago."

"I knew you the minute I saw you standing across the street from the inventor's lab…and I knew you were up to no good just like when we were kids," he said with a smile, but it left as soon as it came. "So, yes, I've been protecting you. This is no place to be up to no good."

"You were faking all this time? You were playing Katrina?"

"I don't even know who she is. I knew _you_ were trying to get into the lab, but I was surprised to find her in there with you. I had to improvise." Benjamin shook his head. "You've always made protecting you difficult."

Kirra couldn't help but laugh, albeit quietly, her hand covering her mouth. "Yes, especially when you move half a world away and I never see you again."

"It wasn't my idea," he said, not joining in her laughter.

Seeing the sadness and the untold story behind his eyes, Kirra threw her arms around Benjamin's neck and squeezed him as hard as she could. "I've missed you so much, Benny."

A few seconds lingered where he seemed to hesitate at returning the gesture, but then he wrapped his arms around her so tightly Kirra thought he might not want to let go.

"I've missed you, too," she heard him whisper at her neck. "I've thought about you every day since." He pulled her from him, the boy Kirra knew gone and the man he had become took his place. "But we don't have time to rehash the old days. I've got to get you out of here. You have no idea what Nikolos is like, Kirra, what he would do to you if he found you wondering about the palace."

"I do know something of him. You're not going to believe this, but I came here with Hercules."

Benjamin's brow wrinkled. "Hercules? _The_ Hercules?"

"Yes, but as you said, we don't have time for stories. Hercules is in trouble and I've got to find him."

"Where?"

"I don't know." The woman in white had promised she would find Hercules. "But I don't think running into you was a coincidence."

Benjamin took the hint, nodding. "Last I heard, Nikolos was planning something in the town square, something big. A demonstration of some kind."

"Then, that has to be it. How do we get there?"

"Um…"

Benjamin looked about the tight space of the closet as if he were searching for a secret exit. Kirra didn't doubt the possibility, since palaces were known to have secret rooms, but when his eyes lit upon her and her cloak, she frowned.

"What?"

"I have an idea."


	10. Chapter 10

_**Kirra's Journey**_

 **Episode 3 – Outsider Looking In  
**

* * *

 _Chapter 10_

When he turned to face the inevitable, Hercules knew to expect the unexpected, but _this_ wasn't exactly what he had in mind when he thought of Nikolos and himself settling scores. A fistfight, a battle of wills maybe, or strategy, but this…? Pitting him against a monolithic metal monster powered by the persistence of Perdix was the farthest thing from his mind!

It towered above him, Perdix's face but a dot within its metal cage. The sight of it had surprised him at first, caught him off guard and given Perdix a chance to swing one meaty metal arm in his direction, knocking him back by several feet. But one good smack (and one headlong rush into the metal monster's midsection, which was likely to leave him with a heck of a headache) brought Hercules back to his senses. The monster was not a monster at all! It was nothing but a gigantic, creaking, metal suit. Without the man, it posed no threat. If he couldn't beat the monster, he had to beat the man within the suit. The question was how to get to him.

* * *

When Benjamin told Kirra he had an idea, she hadn't thought he would shed himself of his armor and don her cloak over his linen underclothes. Worse yet, he wanted her to slip into his armor. A lot easier said than done, considering she was a head shorter than he was and she was wearing a dress. She had complied, though over strenuously whispered objections.

Benjamin knew he wouldn't make it out of the castle with her in tow. How would he explain it to his superiors? They already questioned his loyalty. Perhaps, by not showing his face, he could tip the scales in their favor. Imperative, however, was not to allow Kirra to be seen either. His fellow soldiers might blind their eyes to a lot that went on in Chalcis, but they weren't stupid. Kirra had a face that one couldn't confuse with masculinity. She was all female; her dark blue eyes, her full lips and those curls. One wouldn't mistake her for a man if they tried. He could only allow her to be seen from a distance, and even then only for a few seconds. Benjamin had a plan, and a route, that would get them near the guards, but past them quickly enough to be remembered as nothing but a funny side note—the short guard leading the tall prisoner to his fate.

Kirra lightly bound his wrists with a scrap of linen from the closet, and once they were sure the coast was clear, they left its confines behind and made their way (without the haste they wished to make) out of the palace. The trick was to get past the guard station without drawing attention. For that to work, one other part of his plan had to go off without a hitch. The problem was, it was dangerous, and there was a chance it wouldn't work.

He and Kirra stood at the edge of the guard building, their backs to the wall while Benjamin peered around the corner ever so briefly. Yep, there he was—Brutaeus, the biggest and meanest of all the soldiers under Nikolos's command. Benjamin had seen him take a sword to one of his fellow soldiers once just for beating him in a game of Petteia. This wasn't going to be easy.

"Are you sure this is a good idea?"

Kirra had been uneasy about it the moment he informed her of it, but there was no other way. If they were going to get out and help her friend, they would have to get through Brutaeus.

Benjamin brought a finger to his lips. "Get rid of the armor … _quietly_ … and be ready to go."

She nodded.

"Do you have it?" he asked.

She nodded again and handed him a pouch, loosely cinched but gathered in her fist at the neck. Within it, something huge wriggled and squirmed. Benjamin breathed deeply and took the pouch from Kirra. It was their only way out of this mess. Brutaeus—a man fearless in battle, with an unquenchable thirst for the blood of his enemies—had an unholy fear of rodents, be they big or small. But, as Benjamin well knew, the bigger the better, and the monster within this pouch was bigger than his foot.

"Be careful," Kirra whispered.

To Benjamin, her face looked as fragile as a porcelain doll's behind the oversized helmet. He gave her one last confident smile, a confidence he didn't readily feel, and went around the wall. Ahead was Brutaeus and the one gate which would bring them to freedom. A partial freedom, anyway.

Benjamin had one other advantage—Brutaeus was a daydreamer. Not too many people knew this. They took his vacant stare as a threat or a dare, when in reality he was reliving his last battle or contemplating how he would win in his next game of Petteia. Benjamin knew because a daydreamer could always spot another daydreamer. Many were the days, stuck at his guard post, where he found himself daydreaming about a face he hadn't seen in many years, daydreaming of the day he saw her again and how all his childhood dreams would become a reality. How surprised he'd been to finally see her, after all these years, standing just a dirt road's length away from him. He'd been so shocked his knees nearly gave way beneath him. But she never noticed him, not like his commanding officer did. He'd gotten the business end of a spear poked into his leathered midsection for his indiscretion while she walked away down to the end of the road, never having recognized him at all.

Now that he had Kirra back, he wasn't going to let her go again. He would do what he must to keep her out of the king's clutches, even if that meant shoving the rat down the front of Brutaeus's pants.

But, he needn't go so far. Brutaeus was so lost in his thoughts, he didn't hear the soft crush of grass beneath Benjamin's feet. So busy was he thinking, he knew nothing until he heard his name.

"Brutaeus."

When he turned, Benjamin gave the loosely cinched pouch a toss. It and the monstrous rat were airborne, following a trail in the air that seemed almost predestined. Rat feet, soft and pink with sharp talons, landed squarely on Brutaeus's face. His eyes went wide and his mouth opened in a silent scream, but Benjamin didn't give him a chance to voice it. As the rat, terrified as Brutaeus, leapt into the air and scrambled into the underbrush, Benjamin grabbed the frightened soldier's spear from his hand and used the blunt end to whack the side of his head. He was out and hitting the ground with a thud before he had a chance to scream.

Benjamin released his held breath. "Thank the gods," he said.

"Don't thank them," came a voice from behind. He turned to see Kirra behind him, armor absconded somewhere out of sight and her curls in beautiful disarray. She took his hand. "We make our own luck. Come on! Let's go!"

* * *

It was Benjamin's plan to sneak them out of the palace. Kirra could rightly give him that, and it had been a good plan. However, if Nikolos were planning a demonstration of Daedalus's inventions, they would need something more than a plan. They would need action if they were going to help Hercules.

They stopped long enough to snatch clothing for Benjamin off laundry lines. He wound up in an oversized robe which he cinched with the left over linen they had used as wrist binds, but he kept her cloak in place to hide his face from other soldiers. They might easily spot him out of uniform.

Kirra led him through back alleyways and past the sight of armored men he'd worked with for years, men he had never truly liked. He had a feeling he knew where she was going, but he had to ask when she stopped to see if the next alley in the bend was clear.

"What are you up to, Kirra? I thought we were going to help your friend."

"We are," she said. "But if Nikolos is doing what I think he is, we're going to need more than strong words to dissuade him."

"But where are we going?"

"Back to Daedalus's lab."

Kirra began to move, but Benjamin pulled her back. "Are you crazy? My commanding officer is there."

"Unless I'm mistaken, you no longer have a commanding officer."

Benjamin sighed.

Kirra took his hand and squeezed. "You're breaking free, Benny. Like I did. Like I should have done years ago."

He squeezed back. "Tell me what happened."

"I will," she said, averting her eyes. "But first you have to tell me why you left me behind in Endor … though not now. We have to go."

"All right," he said, and looked around the bend. "But I lead. I don't want you getting hurt."

"I'm not a child anymore."

Benjamin looked her up and down. "I can see that. Doesn't mean I'll stop protecting you. Let's go."

Hand in hand, they raced to the rear of Daedalus's lab and as Kirra expected, the shop was still empty. Perhaps Daedalus and his assistants had completed their work for the day, or perhaps they were busy in the town square waiting for Nikolos and his grand demonstration. Whatever the reason, they had free clearance to ransack the lab for whatever they might need.

Benjamin went through the window first, then assisted Kirra up and over the windowsill, his hands warming at her hips. "Tell me again what we're doing here?" he asked once he had set her firmly on the ground, telling himself to keep his mind on their mission.

Kirra looked at him as if his brains had fallen out of his head. "We're looking for anything that will help us to fight fire with fire."

"And that would be?"

"Do you know nothing of what goes on in here?"

"No, I'm just told to guard the lab. I don't ask questions. Asking questions in Chalcis leads to trouble." He'd seen it too many times to doubt it.

"Fine. Then gather what I ask you to gather … and don't ask questions."

Benjamin couldn't help but grin. "You know, Kirra, you might be braver than you used to be, but you're still the bossy little girl I used to know."

Kirra turned to him with a smile of affection that weakened his knees, but he did as ordered. They had a job to do. Weak knees could get him into as much trouble as questions.

* * *

The next ten minutes went by both at a snail's pace and like lightening. Kirra had never experienced anything like it before. There was something exhilarating in the danger of it. At any second, they could either be caught by guards and arrested, or blown to bits. She still wasn't sure which one was the easier way out.

How they weren't caught in those few minutes as they raced hand in hand through the alleyways of Chalcis holding what amounted to handmade bombs, smoking and sparking, had to have been a miracle. Kirra had never felt freer in her entire life. It brought back the few good memories of life in Endor, running through the woods with Benny. Whether chased away by the baker for snatching sweets or pursued by her stepfather, she had always found something heady in the feeling of running from danger. It pumped through her system like pure energy.

Now, they were running headlong _into_ danger, but the feeling was no less narcotic. It wasn't just the running. Like the old days, she held Benny's hand in hers as they ran. The excitement burst from Kirra in laughter. He looked at her as if she were crazy at first, until he understood, until he remembered their days together. Then, he laughed with her.

Together, they went back in time while they ran into the future.

* * *

Katrina came to Chalcis with the idea of writing a great story, a story that would be read by millions and be told generation after generation. It would stand as a testament to her skills as a scribe and add another feather to Hercules's cap. Her idea, good and simple though it was, stood in stark contrast to what was happening below.

She'd been surprised, when Benjamin brought her to the king, not to have the guillotine waiting for her. In fact, Nikolos had been eager to meet her. "It's been years since we've had a scribe in our village," he had said, his ugly mug a hard one to keep eye contact with. When Nikolos told her she was about to witness an event that would live for a hundred centuries, she had hoped for a demonstration of one of Daedalus's inventions, a demonstration that would seal the inventor's infamy as the creator of weapons of destruction. _This_ was not what she had imagined.

Standing upon a parapet with Nikolos himself, Katrina had what he called "the perfect view." _The perfect view to what?_ had been her question, and he answered it before long. They weren't here in the center of the town market for a mere demonstration. They were here to watch Hercules be crushed to death. This was an execution for all citizens of Chalcis to witness.

At her side the King, clapping and cheering on his metal monster as it tossed the son of Zeus about like a child's toy, nudged her with his elbow. "Shouldn't you be taking notes?"

Katrina didn't know whether he was serious or just insidiously clever. "Stop this, _please!"_

Could it be her former thought was the closest one to the truth? He thought her _the_ scribe to document his rise to power, a power he hoped to gain through the spilling of Olympic blood. If that's what he thought, he was as wrong as he was perplexed at her plea.

"Why?" he asked, sealing Katrina's belief that he was as insane as his soldiers were dullards. He seemed honestly curious at her concern for Hercules. "With Daedalus's Megalith, I'll get back everything Hercules forced me to give up all those years ago. I'll be unstoppable! And you can quote me on that."

 _I'll quote your scream when Hercules rips your neck from your shoulders,_ she thought, and then winced when the Megalith's metal arm swatted Hercules through the air and through a fruit vendor's awning. Katrina couldn't watch. She was no hero. She had no special powers to fight off a machine even a half-god like Hercules couldn't best.

Seconds later, the metal beast landed a heavy arm into his back. Katrina watched Hercules land face first into dirt. Begging was all she had. "Please, call him off! He's killing Hercules!"

"I thought you're job was to report to the world what happens here?"

A jeering smile warped the already warped face of Nikolos. No begging in the world would make this man change his mind. He was insane _and_ insidiously clever!

Katrina lost the mild, but professional demeanor she reserved for asking probing questions which might secure her a place in the annals of scribe history. Hercules was being murdered before her eyes and this creep thought it was funny. A pure, white rage she could no longer control boiled within. In it, she saw Kirra standing over the body of her friend and weeping. It was one ugly image too many.

Grabbing the King's leathered tunic, she yanked him inches from her face and practically growled. "What part of 'he's killing Hercules' hasn't gotten through your thick, scarred head?"

The King, taken aback by the scribe's reaction, never noticed two figures weaving through the crowd below. They were on an intercept path with the Megalith who was once again on a collision course with Hercules. So far, it seemed to be winning.

A laughing Perdix would have agreed with this assessment. With each rumbling footstep, he drew closer and closer to having Hercules within his grasp. The plan was to beat him, swinging the metal arm as one might swing an axe, until he had weakened the half-god, and then he would crush him underfoot. With Hercules down on the ground, the end had come sooner than he thought. Perdix thundered forward.

From the sidelines with the rest of the villagers, a frightened Falafel was torn between watching the two lunatics race toward the impossible metal monster or watching his friend become a piece of flatbread. He had to laugh despite his fear. The lunatics each held aloft something that smoked and sparked. Whoever they were, they were crazier than a sack of hazelnuts, but he knew what they were doing—causing a distraction and giving Hercules a chance at escape. Only Hercules's thoughts were not on escape. From Falafel's vantage point, Hercules was eyeing the kettle of boiled sea serpent he'd prepared that morning.

If those two lunatics were capable of heroics, then Falafel guessed he was too. Fear gone, he broke from the crowd and made for the kettle as an explosion tore through the marketplace.

It happened within a matter of seconds. One second, Katrina had a hold of the king's collar as if she were the brute and he the wimp of a scribe, and in the next, a loud boom had drawn the attention of not only she and Nikolos, but the attention of the guards and soldiers near them. Smoke and sparks were lighting up the marketplace. The Megalith was floundering backward, each heavy footstep shaking the ground. Screams and shouts could be heard in the midst of the explosion, but in its aftermath, there was utter silence.

One voice broke it. "Hercules!"

Katrina felt sure Hercules had blown into little bits and pieces. Even Nikolos had a triumphant smile on his face. As the smoke cleared and the Megalith regained its footing solid on the ground, two figures appeared—Hercules and a bearded man carrying a kettle. Nikolos's smile faltered and Katrina made good her getaway past guards and soldiers who seemed to have forgotten she was there. A stone staircase led away from the insanity of Nikolos. Katrina took them two at a time. She didn't care if she happened to trip on the hem of her skirt. What would it matter if she fell and broke her neck? No story, great or otherwise, was worth this!

She made it down in time, hiding behind a stone pillar, to see Hercules toss the contents of the kettle at the metal man's face. Whatever was inside of it either didn't taste good, or it was boiling hot, because the man inside screamed in agony. The last time she had ever heard such a scream, she had been a little girl walking into town with her mother. The butcher in the shop along the way had accidentally brought his cleaver down upon his own fingers. There had been blood everywhere. He survived, but Katrina remembered the man ran the butchery the rest of his life minus four of the fingers on his left hand. She wasn't sure if The Fates would be so kind to the man inside the metal monster. Down it went with a crash, and above on the parapet Nikolos's smile had fallen with about the same effect.

Hercules was standing on two feet and walking without encumbrance. He looked exhausted, but not beaten. The wear and tear he sustained in his fight with the metal monster amounted to a cut over one eye, which dripped blood down the side of his face, and a gash to his bicep. He stood over the Megalith, but his eyes were on the king above him.

"What's the matter, Nikolos? Things didn't work out like you hoped?"

The king's frown turned to fury. "I'm not finished with you yet, Hercules. _I swear_ , I will have my revenge!"

 _Yeah, where have I heard that before?_ Hercules thought. He didn't waste his time trying to understand why evil men thought they were above the law of human kindness or why they sought revenge on those who tried to end their reign of terror. He gave Nikolos one of his best you-don't-scare-me glares and turned back to the problem at hand—the contraption which held an injured Perdix in its prison. Injured or not, Hercules wouldn't leave Daedalus's invention in working order.

Since the market was already a mess, he used what was left of his strength to pull from the ground a stone supporting strut from a shop that made its home directly underneath the parapet. It shifted beneath Nikolos's feet, but the parapet remained intact. The Megalith, however, would not fair as well once he was done with it.

Hercules lumbered the column over to it and its operator. "Perdix, you've got about two seconds to get out of there or you can become a permanent part of that thing."

Nikolos's second in command may have been injured, but not so badly he couldn't find his way out of the Megalith in two seconds flat. Katrina had never seen anyone move so fast, but if the truth were told, she would rather have seen the column smash down on the Megalith with him in it. Unfortunately, the wielder of the stone weapon was Hercules, a man who didn't believe in killing unless he absolutely had to. This was likely to be one of those times. She shrugged as the column came down and flatted the Megalith into a Minimush. Maybe even creeps like him deserve a second chance.

Not Nikolos, though. She heard of what happened at the Battle of Plataea, and the innocent lives lost in Danalos. He deserved whatever ill will he wished upon others, and he was wishing plenty on Hercules right about now. She watched him march out of the spotlight past his soldiers, shoving them aside and yelling, "Out of my way!"

The danger was over. Katrina was now free to go to the most famous man in all of Greece with quill and parchment in hand. What a story this would make!

"That was great, Hercules!" She looked down at the gash on his bicep. "Oh, your arm. Are you okay?"

Hercules turned to see an unfamiliar face. "Who are you?"

She gave him a cautious smile. "Katrina … of Katea. I'm sure you've probably heard of me by now."

Hercules didn't stick out his hand or offer any hellos. "Where's Kirra?"

"At the moment? Honestly, I don't know." She pointed over his shoulder. "But if we don't get out of here now, you might not find out."

Behind them, Nikolos's guards were descending the parapet. As worried as he was for Kirra's safety, and as concerned as he was that the scribe had something to do with it, Hercules didn't have the time for scrutiny. He took the arm of the woman who called herself Katrina of Katea and blended with the crowd of people who had begun to crowd around Daedalus's invention.

Out of the crowd, Falafel appeared, relieved to see his friend in one piece. "Hercules," he said in that familiar accent. "Are you all right?"

"I'm fine," he said and grabbed the man's grease-stained lapel. "Falafel, you're coming with me."

The cook's relieved smile changed into a frown. "I am?"

"Unless you want to stay and be fodder for the king's soldiers…"

"I think I'm coming with you."

"That's what I thought."

Katrina asked Hercules at a jog. "Where are you taking us?"

"At the moment?" he said in parody of her. "Honestly, I don't know."

Behind them, Hercules spotted the guards milling through the crowd looking for him. No point in giving them a chance to find him or anyone else. He sped up their escape until the marketplace and the city center was far behind them.

* * *

 **In Chapter 11, as the king's soldiers chase our team into the forests of Chalcis, Kirra finds herself at the center of a tug-of-war.**

 **If you're enjoying the story so far, leave a comment. Thanks.**


	11. Chapter 11

_**Kirra's Journey**_

 **Episode 3 – Outsider Looking In  
**

* * *

 _Chapter 11_

Hercules didn't stop until they'd gone deep into the forests of Chalcis. They couldn't stay for long; he knew that. Stuck within a walled city, there was really no place for one to hide. Besides, Kirra was missing and Daedalus was out there somewhere. The last time they had spoken, Daedalus had promised to tell Nikolos he was bringing an end to their working relationship. After the spectacle Nikolos made of himself in the city square, any such revelations on Daedalus's part would not go over well. His friend was going to need his help. But for now…

Letting go of the grip he held on his two charges, Hercules stopped to catch his breath. The two beside him did the same. Falafel fell to the ground, breathing heavily, and the scribe leaned against a tree, a hand to her heaving chest.

"It's a good thing we got away from the guards," she said in between breaths. "Or _you_ would have killed us!"

"I think … I am dying."

This came from Falafel as he lay on the ground staring wide-eyed up into the trees, arms and legs splayed as if Nikolos himself were pulling him by a team of horses.

"You're both alive," Hercules said, setting himself down upon a jutting rock. "Stop complaining."

Katrina slid down the length of the tree and landed her butt in the dirt. What she wouldn't do for a glass of clear, cold water. " _Lucky_ to be alive, you mean. I've never been so afraid in my life. My heart is still pounding. I don't know how I got away from the king."

Hercules looked up from inspecting his wounds. "You were with Nikolos?"

 _Here we go,_ she thought, and nodded. "On the parapet. He assumed I was one of those scribes who would do anything for a story, even watch a man be murdered. I'm not, just so you know."

"I don't know you well enough to judge you," he said, dabbing at the cut above his eye with the hem of his shirt. "Not yet, anyway. Not until you tell me where Kirra is." She looked away, and to Hercules it couldn't have meant anything good.

"Last time I saw her was in the palace." Katrina pulled at a loose leather binding on her satchel. "We were being taken to see the king."

" _What?"_ Hercules rose from his seat.

"It wasn't my idea. It was hers, one hundred percent. She was looking for someone."

Katrina watched an understanding cross the half-god's face. She knew him no better than he knew her, but she did know worry when she saw it, no matter whose face it emanated from. _He knows_ , she thought. _He knows who Kirra was looking for and he's probably not going to tell me._ But after the events of the last few hours, knowing wasn't her real concern. Hers was the same as Hercules—something horrible had befallen the girl. While Hercules sank back onto his seat, Katrina decided she'd best tell him what she knew.

"I'm sorry, okay," she began, awkwardly swatting bangs from her eyes. "I saw an opportunity to interview Nikolos and I took it. Kirra was a willing participant. She orchestrated the whole thing. Getting caught by the guards, being arrested…"

" _And you helped her."_

"Well … yeah. I can't help it. I smell a story, I follow my nose."

Katrina got to her feet and took the few steps it would take to put her beside the most famous man in all of Greece. He was easy on the eyes, which was a plus, for there wasn't much in the way of concession within his. Too bad he wasn't as gullible as the guard named Benjamin or she could spin quite a story. The art of truth would have to do.

"You should be proud of her," Katrina said with a shrug. "Kirra is wickedly smart, a quick thinker and she knows how to play a dimwitted guard better than the lyre. I hate to admit it, but she'd make a great scribe."

Falafel raised himself up onto his elbows, ignoring them both. Neither were paying him any mind, lost as they were in their own conversations. He didn't know the woman like he knew Hercules, and he knew the person they were speaking of even less. What he did know was the distinctive sound voices made in the distance.

Caught up in his conversation with the scribe, Hercules heard nothing but the scribe's unnerving words. He hated admitting it himself, but Katrina was right. Didn't mean he liked it.

"Yeah well, Kirra's wicked smarts have a tendency of getting her into a lot of trouble. Like following you halfway to Euboea."

"Again, not my idea," Katrina said, taking a seat on the rock beside him. This close to him, she couldn't help but notice the way the sun reflected in his eyes and how the breeze played in his chestnut hair. She contemplated running her fingers through its long, luxurious strands and nearly lost her train of thought. "You should have killed Nikolos when you had the chance in the Battle of Plataea. Did you ever stop to think none of this would have happened if you had?"

The distant voices had silenced, but there was no mistaking the crunch of dead leaves. Falafel sat straight up, his heart no longer pounding out of exertion, but out of fear.

Hercules was shaking his head at the scribe. He didn't hear a thing, nor did he see Falafel's ardent look of fear. He was too busy concerning himself with Katrina's inaccurate understanding of what had happened in Plataea. Liars rewrote history and it was people like this scribe who helped them, but he had a feeling she wasn't as bendable as other scribes he had met in his travels. Despite the scribe's failings, he could see why Kirra liked her. Katrina had her principles, skewed though they were.

"Maybe, but I don't believe in killing unless I have to," Hercules said in answer. "You can't change fate with one simple act of violence. Besides, that's not who I am."

Katrina raised an eyebrow, surprised at the half-god's astuteness. He wasn't just easy on the eyes. He was easy on the heart, too. She couldn't help but smile. "Hmm, can I quote you on that?"

A return smile tempted a curl at the corner of Hercules's lips when Falafel, clearing his throat, drew his and Katrina's attention.

"Perhaps the two of you could flirt later," he said in a whisper, his eyes wide and teeth clenched. He pointed into the thickness of the woods. "Someone's coming."

* * *

Mother once told her, "To become old and wise, you first have to grow beyond being young and stupid." Kirra never felt closer to that statement than she did today. What she and Benjamin did was impossibly brave and courageous, and yet incredibly foolish, an act of the young and stupid.

When they had entered the marketplace, it was to the sight of a monster. Mother always told her there were no such things as monsters, but she hadn't truly believed it. Not with Hiram stalking the plank wood floors of their home. It made not believing in the monsters under her bed at night hard to do. Yet, right in the center of Chalcis had stood a monster far more terrifying than any she had read about or imagined. Made of metal and bristling with spikes, human cruelty powered this monster. She and Benjamin had watched helpless as the metal beast swat Hercules about the marketplace as though he were nothing but a mere rag doll. The sight had stopped the laughter dead in her throat.

If it hadn't been for Benny looking her in the eyes and telling her this was no different than the times they'd send Hiram on a wild goose chase after them into the woods, she might not have found her bravery.

"Making your stepfather look like a fool took courage, Kirra," Benny had said, her hand still in his grasp. "If you could do it then, you can do it now. I know you can."

And she had. She had followed Benny's direction, knowing Hercules was down on the ground and possibly injured. They ran toward the metal monster, heedless of the danger and the sparking, smoking handmade bombs within their hands. They had made them of hot coals and whatever vile liquid she had watched the man in the laboratory pour over them. She hadn't forgotten the way it sizzled and smoked hours ago inside the inventor's lab. Using iron tongs, they had run the concoction the entire way to the marketplace, knowing whatever they might face it would be of Daedalus's creation. _Fight fire with fire_ , she had said. And that's what they came to do.

They dropped their bombs at the monster's thundering feet and ran as if its fire licked at their heels. Whatever happened in its aftermath, whether it singed her or the man within the metal suit, it would give Hercules a fighting chance.

Kirra didn't like to think how close they came to dying, but they had accomplished what they set out to do—rescue Hercules. The excitement of the moment continued to pulse through her like the beat of Benny's heartbeat through the palm of his hand.

No one had spotted them after the disaster they left behind. They hadn't drawn near the amount of attention Hercules and his metal foe had. They were able to slip out of the city and into the forest unnoticed. No one chased them but their own worst imaginings. It wasn't until they were deep into the thickness of the woods, surrounded by chestnut trees instead of guards that they stopped running to catch their breath and promptly fell to the leaf-strewn ground.

Kirra couldn't stop laughing, though the comedy of the moment was lost on Benjamin.

"Are you okay?" he asked. She had slumped against him and he was quick to straighten her and check her for injury. "Are you hurt?"

"No," she answered, her voice aquiver. "I'm all right, but I've never been more scared."

"So, why are you laughing?"

"Because I'm having the time of my life. It's like when we were kids. You and I together running in a thunderstorm. We knew it was dangerous, but we had the best time. Oh, I miss those days."

Benjamin breathed heavily, trying to catch his breath. Only now he wondered what had taken his breath away—the excitement or the girl. She looked more beautiful to him in that moment than he ever remembered. "I miss them, too. I wish things had never changed."

"Tell me where you went, Benny. Why did you leave me behind in Endor?"

When he tried to turn away and get to his feet, Kirra pulled him back to her. There was such sadness in his eyes she could no longer find her humor.

"We left because my parents were terrified. Your stepfather terrorized my mother and he humiliated my father."

His words were an accusing. Kirra felt the sting and the heat of it in her cheeks. She had known her stepfather wasn't a bully only in his own household. He'd bullied the whole town. He had the village leader, Tiras, right in the palm of his hand and he had done so through fear. She couldn't doubt Benjamin. She'd always suspected Hiram to be the reason her one and only friend had left town, but she wasn't given the more important reason…

"Why?"

When Benjamin answered, it was with surprise. "Because of our friendship, Kirra. Because we didn't give up on each other. Because I refused to let him intimidate me. That's why. Or didn't you know?"

Kirra shrugged, holding her head low. Once again, she held the weight of Hiram on her shoulders. "Maybe," she said. "I don't know."

She heard Benny sigh, felt the breath of it ruffle the curls at her forehead. Regret, Kirra thought. He regretted hurting her with his words.

"What happened to him?" he asked. "I wouldn't have thought he'd let you or your mother go."

"He's dead," she whispered. She knew it was true. She had been chasing ghosts, like the woman in white said. If Hiram were here in Chalcis working for the king, Benjamin would have seen him. He would have known who she was looking for in the palace, and he probably would have helped her track him down. He would have helped her end him once and for all.

"Well, that's good news."

Kirra nearly laughed.

"How did he die?"

There was no laughing, nearly or otherwise, this time. She picked at a loose piece of fabric on Benjamin's robe, not looking him in the eyes. "It's not important," she said. "We're free of him, Mother and I. That's all." She looked up into his dark brown eyes with a smile. "But we're not going to be free for much longer if we don't get out of here. We need to find Hercules."

Kirra got to her feet, freeing herself of another uncomfortable situation—the nearness of Benny and the warmth of his embrace. She had loved the little boy back in Endor. He had been stuck in the awkward stage of growth between boyhood and young manhood. Gangly and skinny, with a big nose and ears the size of windmills, most of the other kids wanted nothing to do with him. They'd wanted nothing to do with her either, because of Hiram. In the absence of other friends, she and Benny found each other. They formed a bond hard to break; something Kirra unfortunately discovered when he and his family left town. The man, however, was much different from the boy. Little Benny had been full of silly jokes and laughter. Benjamin the grown-up, the Euboean guard, was serious-minded, grave in appearance and critical in speaking. Despite that, the gangly boy with his awkward features had become a handsome man with thick dark hair and dark eyes even one as distracted as Kirra could take notice of. He was too close, the newness of him too real. She had to get away.

"If he made it out of there," Benjamin said behind her.

Kirra, while dusting leaves from her skirts, thought she heard an edge of resentment in his tone. "Don't say that. I'm sure he's—"

Benjamin clapped a hand over her mouth and moved them behind the tree. He pointed beyond them toward an open patch of trees. There stood a trio of armored guards. They were standing quietly, listening.

"They heard us," he whispered.

Her first inclination was to ask him what they should do, but she knew the answer as well as he did. Waiting was their only option. It wouldn't do to run unless they wanted to attract their attention. So, they waited for them to shrug their shoulders and move on, and they did before long, but Kirra and Benjamin stayed put. When they were out of sight, she risked speaking.

"Do you think they saw us?"

"No," he said. "They weren't looking for us." Benjamin took her arm. "This way."

Kirra followed him quietly as they twisted through the maze of trees, this way and that, until she was lost. She had no idea where he was going. He moved slowly and stepped cautiously, warning her with his eyes when she made too much noise with her footfalls. Several minutes passed before Kirra caught sight of what he was following—the backs of the guards they had seen only moments before.

After a beat, he moved her behind a stand of bushes, slipped off the cloak and returned it to her shoulders. When he whispered in her ear, she felt the tingle of it right down to her toes. "Stay here." And when she felt the need to ask him where he was going, he silenced her with a finger to her lips. Then, he was gone.

* * *

Hercules searched the ground at his feet, chastising himself while he looked for anything he could use as a makeshift weapon. Falafel had been right. Someone was closing in on their position. How could he have allowed himself to become so distracted?

There was no weapon within easy reach. At the last minute, he pulled Falafel from the ground and pushed him and Katrina behind him.

From behind a copse of trees came a man Hercules didn't recognize. Whoever he was, he wasn't wearing armor, nor was attempting to hide his identity. He wore robes plainer than those Daedalus wore, but about him was an air of authority Hercules only ever saw in those who carried weapons. This man's hands were empty.

"Stop right there," Hercules demanded and the man did as asked. "Who are you?"

"Are you Hercules?" he asked, an uneasiness blanketing his features as surely as an armored helmet might.

For all Hercules knew, this was one of Nikolos's men sent to fool him into surrender or trick him into thinking Daedalus or Kirra was in trouble. It would be hard not to fall for such a ruse. He was concerned for their safety and he had no idea where either of them were. The Fates, however, had brought him a sign in Katrina. She stepped from behind him, a finger pointed in accusation at the stranger, before Hercules had a chance to stop her.

"You!"

Recognition sparked in the dark-haired man's eyes. He knew Katrina as well, perhaps a bit more than Hercules knew her, but his look was one of distrust. Unwelcome, worrisome questions came to Hercules's mind: who was this man, and how did he and Katrina know each other?

Katrina, ever the scribe, beat him to the punch. "What are you doing here?" she asked, closing the distance between she and him. "And where's Kirra?"

"Don't worry, scribe," he said with a frown. "I got your _slave girl_ to safety."

The sound of Kirra's name was as jarring as warning bells to Hercules. He balled the younger man's lapels in his fist and pulled him close so fast, Katrina had to back away. "If you know where Kirra is, you'd better tell me right now."

The words were barely out of his mouth when a thunderous crash of brush and dead leaves came from behind. To Hercules's unbounded relief, Kirra popped from the brush, winded and disheveled, with leaves poking from her curls.

"Hercules!"

Yes, Benjamin had told her to stay put, and she had for a full minute. But nothing could have kept her in her hiding place once she heard the voice of Hercules floating back to her. She ran from the bushes and into his open arms. That he had Benjamin in a death grip registered not at all. Kirra had never been happier to see anyone in her entire life. Hercules was bruised and he was cut, but he was warm with the blood his heart pumped through him and he was alive.

"Thank the gods," she whispered into his chest. "I thought you'd been squashed into jelly."

When he laughed against her, she knew then her feelings for him were more than a silly girlish crush. She loved him. Nothing else could feel this way.

"As long as it's raspberry jelly," he said. "That's my favorite."

Kirra backed away. "This is no time for jokes. If something had happened to you, Iolaus would blame me."

"Not to worry," he said, his expression taking a serious turn. "All you have to worry about is explaining to me where you've been the last couple of hours. When I couldn't find you, I got worried." Hercules cast a glance up at Katrina. "And it would seem, I had good right to be."

Kirra looked to the scribe who was sheepishly shrugging her shoulders. What had she told Hercules?

"Don't look at me," Katrina said to Hercules. "I was merely along for the ride, as you'll remember. Maybe you should ask him." She jerked a thumb at Benjamin.

"And you are?" Hercules asked, taking into consideration the young man's evident discomfit at seeing Kirra in his arms. Hercules knew the look of envy when he saw it.

"My name is Benjamin. You have nothing to fear from me."

"'Nothing to fear'?" Katrina said. "Hercules, he's one of Nikolos's men. And Kirra knows it."

Kirra shot Katrina an unpleasant glare. After what the scribe had done to help her get into the palace, Kirra couldn't believe the woman's audacity. At the very least, she deserved a bit a trust from the scribe. And it didn't help that Hercules was believing every word coming out of her scheming little mouth.

"Is this true?" he asked.

Breaking from Hercules, Kirra crossed the short distance to Benny's side and took his hand. It felt cold and rigid, like ice, and she didn't know why. "Yes, but Hercules, Benjamin is my friend. It was his idea to distract that, _that thing_ so you could best it. He helped me escape from the king's palace. If you're going to trust someone, it should be him not her."

"Hey," Katrina said. "If it weren't for me, little girl, you wouldn't have gotten into the palace."

The curiosity her comment piqued in Hercules shut Kirra down. She was lucky he was more interested in the validity of Benjamin's claims than in she and Katrina's battle of wills.

"Are you working for Nikolos?" Hercules asked and Benjamin nodded.

But he could not meet Hercules's eyes. Not out of dishonesty, but out of shame. "I did, until several hours ago," he said and then looked at Kirra, "…when I saw her."

His words were honest ones. Hercules comprehended this not because truthfulness ebbed from him like the pull of the tide, but because of Kirra. She wasn't one to trust easily. Where strangers were concerned, suspicion came first. Her trust was a hard one to earn. Yet, he couldn't be as certain of him as Kirra was. The smirk on Katrina's face at Kirra and Benjamin's clasped hands was what made Hercules doubt.

Arms crossed and eyebrows raised, Katrina asked, "What _have_ the two of you been up to since I last saw you?"

"Nothing as tawdry as you assume," Benjamin said. He looked to Hercules. "And I'd explain, but we don't exactly have much time."

"He's right," Kirra said. "There are a band of soldiers heading this way."

A heavy sigh drew the foursome's attention away from each other and toward a bearded and scruffy looking man wearing a peasant's hat. "That's what I've been trying to tell you," he said with a deep and guttural accent Kirra had not heard before. "Someone is coming. Can't any of you hear them?"

Hercules was instantly on alert, but he didn't fail to notice how quickly the young man Kirra called Benjamin moved to protect her. It wasn't an act. He cared for Kirra and he would clearly do anything to keep her safe. As much as he hated the idea of leaving her behind again, he had to concentrate on what he came to Chalcis to do.

"Falafel's right," Hercules said. "You'd better get out of here."

Katrina huffed, hands on her hips. "And go where, may I ask?"

"What are you talking about, Hercules?" Kirra asked.

His eyes searching the surrounding woods, Hercules took the time to whisper. "I can't forget why I came to Chalcis, Kirra. Daedalus needs my help. Nikolos has him so confused, he's not thinking straight. He could be in trouble right now for all I know. I need to find him."

"No," Kirra said, slipping from Benjamin's halting hand. "You cannot go back there, Hercules. Nikolos will kill you."

"I'm more concerned about Daedalus."

"I'm not."

As soon as she said it, Kirra realized how horrible a thing it was to say. She could read it on Hercules's face, but he wasn't the sort of person who held a grudge. He understood better than any of them what she went through and the connection they shared. More than anything else, she feared losing him.

"You can't leave," she said by way of apology, tears filling her eyes. "I just found you again."

"I don't have a choice, Kirra," he said, his eyes catching Benjamin's for a second or two. "You're in safe hands for now." Hercules turned away from her and pointed to Benjamin. "You, take them east as quick as you can. You'll find the inventor's house. Get them inside."

Kirra watched Benjamin face Hercules with little emotion, but she knew him well enough. The boy may have grown into a man, but some things did not change. He still knew how to hold his feelings in check like a dam could hold back water, but the strain of it showed in the tightening of his lips. She remembered the time Hiram went nose to nose with him. As terrified and angry as he'd been, he managed to say "Yes, sir" to every ugly thing Hiram said with perfect decorum. He did so now, as well.

"And if Daedalus is already there?" he asked Hercules.

"Then, I'll meet you there. If not, I'll bring him home. Just get them to safety. And if anything happens to Kirra, I'll know who to look for."

"I understand."

"If I'm not back by nightfall, get them out of the city, and get Kirra back to my mother's in Corinth."

"I will do as you ask."

Kirra felt as if she no longer existed. A visual war went on between the two of them, and though it had everything to do with her, it didn't involve her at all. She didn't know where to put herself. Were it not for Katrina butting in, she might have vanished into thin air.

"Wait, Hercules, you're in no condition to go anywhere. I haven't even had a chance to bind your wounds."

"I'm fine," he said.

"I can bind his wounds myself, Katrina," Kirra said, feeling whole again, her gaze like a flame upon the scribe. "I have training. He doesn't need your help."

"He looks okay to me," Benjamin said.

"Oh, you think just because I'm a scribe I don't have training?"

"Ugh, the gods take you all!" Falafel raised his hands in the air as if the guards were upon them already, crossbows armed and ready.

"Who are you?" Kirra asked.

"The cook!"

With that, Falafel disappeared into the woods opposite of the approaching guards. Kirra stared after the crazy foreign man with the fake beard and the grease-stained hat, momentarily forgetting the danger they were in.

Danger was nothing new to Hercules. Been there, done that. He had a mission to complete. It was his other companions, two of whom he hardly knew, that were in trouble.

"Follow him," Hercules told them, pointing in the direction Falafel had vanished. "He's headed in the right direction. I'll distract the guards."

Hercules gave Kirra one last look and squeezed her hand before he too vanished into the forest. Kirra's eyes followed him until trees and branches obscured him, and Benjamin's pull on her arm lost him from her view.

* * *

 **Sorry for the Lord of the Rings reference. It just sounded too cute coming out of Kirra's mouth. If you know the movies, you'll know what part I mean.**

 **In Chapter 12: Separated again from Hercules, Kirra follows Benjamin deep into forests of Chalcis in search of Daedalus's home and safety. Along the way, she learns there are more sides to Benjamin than she thought she knew.**


	12. Chapter 12

_**Kirra's Journey**_

 **Episode 3 – Outsider Looking In  
**

* * *

 _Chapter 12_

The forest was alive with sound, though not the sounds one usually associates with the forest. Kirra often strolled through the woods near Alcmene's home listening to the songs of birds and the scamper of squirrels through the trees. At times she would hear the screech of an owl or the squeal of a mouse, but the sounds were comforting ones. They relaxed her, cleared her mind, and helped her to write new songs of life in Corinth. The forests of Chalcis, encapsulated within its stone walls, were fraught with a wholly different sort of sound. Birds kept their silence and squirrels watched from the boughs and branches as the chorus of stragglers made their getaway. The combined noise of their shuffling feet through forest debris alone would keep the soldiers on their tail no matter how far they traveled.

Kirra was at Benjamin's side (she was fearful of leaving him now that Hercules was gone; this new escape not as dangerously exciting as the last), when he forced them to come to a halt in the trail. The three of them were curious at his action, but kept quiet. In the silence, they heard it—the shuffle of footsteps through the forest. Soon, running was not nearly as imperative as staying quiet.

One by one, Benjamin led them through different turns in the trail, hiding one in a culvert under a pile of leaves and another within a thicket of berry bushes. Kirra he hid behind a tree whose roots were so exposed they formed a well she could take cover in, while he climbed its boughs where he could scout the surrounding area with an unobstructed view. In his plainly colored robes, he blended well with the earthy colors of the tree. No one stalking toward them would have seen him hiding up there.

Still, Kirra didn't like feeling as conspicuous as a mouse to the eyes of a hawk. Through it all, Benjamin had not once given them any word they were in danger. His body language, however, spoke volumes.

As if floating on the wind, the distinctive sound of footfalls on the forest floor returned to Kirra's ears, and they were closer this time. Their stalker was but a stone's throw away on the other side of the tree. Heavy breathing, the sort when one is out of breath, sounded. But not until she heard the crunch of dead leaves beside the tree did Kirra realize the breathing was her own. She quickly slapped a hand over her mouth, but she was too late. He was coming around the tree. At any second, he would see her.

Leaves rained down from above. Kirra nearly screamed. Above her, Benjamin was on the move.

Making no effort to conceal his presence, he stepped from branch to branch, drawing the attention of the armored guard below. This one must have broken from the pack, not as confident in his fellows who thought they had found Hercules. He was the only one within miles and Benjamin knew him by the sound of his footfalls. There was only one person he knew of who walked with that particular lumbering gait—his commanding officer, Upis.

Once on patrol outside the city gates, a black bear mauled Upis; thus, the ugly winding scar on his face. But, it had gotten a hold of his leg, too. It tore through muscle and bone. He wasn't expected to live, but by some grace of the gods, he did. This happened long before Benjamin came to Euboea, but he'd heard enough stories to know Upis was not a man to mess around with. In any other situation, Benjamin would not think twice of squaring off with him. When it came to Kirra's safety, though, anyone was fair game.

He caught a branch with both hands and swung his feet out from under him, landing solidly on the ground behind Upis. The echo of it bounced off trees and bracken, catching his commanding officer by surprise.

"Caught by the bear again?" Benjamin enjoyed the scowl twisting upon Upis's face.

"You!" he said, pointing his spear as Katrina had pointed her finger. "I always knew you'd turn traitor one day, boy. Was it you freed the half-god from his fate?"

"Yes."

Eyes forward, Benjamin didn't flinch at the sight of movement behind the officer. If he did, one of them would die. He moved forward, drawing Upis's attention and his blade. It poked into Benjamin's midsection with sufficient force to cause pain, but not to pierce clothing or break the skin.

"What did it take? What did the half-breed promise you, boy?"

Benjamin merely stared at him, the question churning up in his gut. "Nothing," he said. "Nothing at all. Take him."

"Huh? What're y—?"

With a battle cry she had not utter once in her life, Kirra swung the heavy branch with all her might, catching the guard in the back of the knee. He went down with a cry, his knees buckling like a falling tree. Landing on his back, he saw the scribe he had accosted inside the inventor's lab standing over him with a length of branch in her hands. She swung once and the last thing he remembered was stars.

"Take that, Stinky!" Katrina giggled over the fallen commander, twirling the branch she'd snagged from the ground. It was a mite soggy from the dampness of the forest, but it had done its job. She plucked a branch of red berries from her hair and looked at Kirra, who was smiling just as proudly. "How do you like that? We're like a couple of heroes."

"Yes," Kirra said, all smiles for the first time since Hercules ditched them. "I rather fancy myself a Warrior Princess."

Katrina pointed the edge of her branch at Kirra. "Hey, I dealt the death blow. That makes _me_ the Warrior Princess."

Kirra smirked and indicated Katrina's leather satchel with the end of her branch. "You travel with quill and parchment. I believe that makes you the Bard of Potidaea."

"As if, I—"

Benjamin snatched the branches from both their hands and tossed them onto the ground. "I think you're both insane," he said, an angry frown twisting his otherwise handsome features, but his eyes were on Kirra. "Are you trying to get yourselves killed?"

His disdain colored her cheeks, but not out of shame. "No, we were trying to keep _you_ from being killed. You could at least be grateful."

"I can take care of myself."

His dark eyes fairly glowed. Kirra didn't know this angry side of Benjamin, but she thought she understood from where it stemmed. His anger didn't come from her risking her life to save him. Her actions had only fueled it.

"Are we alive?" Falafel arrived beside them, brushing leaves from his clothing. He stopped short at the soldier on the ground. "Oh, what happened here?"

"He took one for the team," Katrina answered, eyeing Kirra and Benjamin thoughtfully. "Now what?"

"We stick to the plan; head for the inventor's house," Benjamin said. "It's not far from here."

"And what do we do then?" Kirra asked, an edge to her voice. When Benjamin turned to her, the anger she had seen melted into regret.

"We'll decide when we get there. For now, we need to keep moving."

Together, the four of them dragged the officer's unconscious body deep into the thicket and covered him with leaves. When he awoke, he wouldn't know where he was or in which direction they had gone.

That taken care of, Kirra, Katrina and Falafel followed Benjamin as dutifully as ducklings behind their mother while he took them on a crooked and winding path through the forest, stopping every so often when he feared the break of a branch or the shuffle of leaves. After some time, the denseness of the forest thinned out into a small clearing where a house and a pond basked in the warmth of the late afternoon sun. A miniature aqueduct funneled fresh water from the pond to the house and a metal windmill twisted in the breeze. No doubt, this was the inventor's home.

It would be dark in a couple of hours. Kirra hoped to find Daedalus comfortably working inside his home, oblivious to the happenings within Chalcis. If he were, then Hercules wouldn't be far behind. But, for the time being, she remained huddled with Katrina and Falafel the Cook on the edge of the forest. They watched while Benjamin cautiously tiptoed onto the property. He had no hint anyone watched from the forest, but he crept from tree to tree nonetheless. If Kirra had her way, they would turn around and head back into the thickness of the trees. The scare with the guard had been too close. All it would take was for one guard to spot him out in the open and, BAM!, he could be captured. The thought of seeing Benjamin led as a traitor to his execution (drawn and quartered as he had described) made her forgive his moment of anger.

"So," Katrina said at her ear. "You two know each other. How long were you planning on keeping that a secret?"

"Hercules and I have known each other for a long time," the cook answered. "It's no secret."

Katrina turned to the scruffy man. "I'm not talking to you."

"Oh. Sorry."

Kirra laughed quietly. She hadn't wanted to answer the scribe's nosy question anyway, but she knew Katrina well enough by now to know she wouldn't give up. A nudge at her ribs wasn't surprising.

"Well?"

Kirra sighed. "It was never a secret. We've known each other since we were children. I simply didn't recognize him. It was he who recognized me."

She couldn't see the scribe, but Kirra could imagine her smirk. "Well, something is going on between the two of you. What aren't you telling me?"

"Nothing, but if I were, why should I tell you?"

"Because I'm a scribe and I want to know. Just like I want to know who you were looking for."

Kirra shook her head, watching as Benjamin slipped through the shade trees to inspect the rear of the home. "Nothing is going on between us. Benny is a bit overprotective, is all."

"Benny, huh?"

"Benjamin," she corrected. "And I'm not looking for anyone … not anymore."

"And why is that?"

Benjamin reappeared from the rear of the home to peer through windows and Kirra hushed the scribe with a "shh." He shot once glance in their direction and then carefully entered the house. A few minutes of tense anticipation passed, the three of them pulling in shallow breaths, before a composed Benjamin reappeared at the open door. All was clear. He waved them into the house.

They passed through the clearing to Daedalus's home in a hurry. They were exposed, open to attack from all sides despite Benjamin's scouting work. Silence greeted them when they entered the inventor's home one by one. Daedalus was not to be found. Kirra's heart sank.

Within the home, darkness choked the corners in the fading afternoon light. As their eyes adjusted and Katrina lit an earthenware oil lamp, worktables with vials of unknown chemicals and strange tools Kirra had never seen the like of before slowly took shape on one side of the house. Drawn blueprints of future or current designs decorated the walls instead of artwork. What half of the house the inventor used as living space was not as maintained as the working side. A dining table used more for work than eating held an empty mug and a wooden bowl. A bed with a rumpled blanket sat in a separate corner looking lonely and unused. Kirra knew little about Daedalus or what he was going through, but his home spoke of a man who no longer lived for himself, but for his work. He was hurting much more than he cared to tell.

Her heartless words to Hercules came back to Kirra in full measure. She hadn't cared about Daedalus or his troubles. The instant she thought she had seen Hiram in the city streets, she had thought only of herself. Hercules and his desire to help his friend had taken a backseat to her own issues. She chastised herself. Hercules was the reason she came out here. If it weren't for him, for her desire to see him again and protect him from Katrina's questions, she might not have found Benny.

Kirra looked up and met Benjamin's eyes. He'd taken up a position by the window, though he was not keeping watch on anything but her, nor did he look away bashfully as he might have when they were younger. She knew what she saw mirrored in his dark eyes. His anger may have faded, but the ardor with which he showered her had not changed in the years since she had known him as a boy. She could not return it then, nor would she now and he seemed to know it.

Kirra looked away.

* * *

There wasn't room for conversation within Daedalus's modest home, filled as it was with tension. Thick as fog, Kirra kept waiting for it to condense in the form of droplets on the roof's support beams. She had taken a seat on the inventor's barely slept in bed while Katrina wrote furiously on parchment. Her quill moved with the speed of Hermes, dipping double-time in her jar of ink. A smile lit her face that Kirra understood. When the words flowed, it was a bit like magic. She knew of no feeling like it, other than love. The two ran a close race. When either one of them took over, the person wielding the quill, or the heart, no longer had control; the magic takes you and leads you where it wants. You become a follower, a prisoner to its whims, pulled as if by chains.

Kirra felt a bit like that herself, only the chain pulled in two different directions.

On one side was Hercules—she'd been fascinated by him as a teen. Now, she knew more about him than she could have crammed in reading stories the likes of which Katrina wrote. He wasn't as mind-bendingly omnipotent as the stories made him out to be. He was more human than Olympian god and that's what she loved about him. He was as fallible as she, prone to anger or jealousy or hatred as anyone. The only difference is he didn't succumb to their temptation. He had heart, he had empathy and he loved people. It wasn't his good looks or the way the sun bronzed his skin or even his overt manliness that made her love him. It was his goodness. It beamed from him like sunrays.

And yet, she had to admit, Benjamin pulled from the other side. He was the complete opposite of Hercules. He didn't have the half-god's looks or his physique. He didn't brim with muscles or exude an unintended air of sexuality. He was tall and thin, and at certain angles, his features looked as awkward as they did at fourteen, but he had a vulnerability about him Kirra wanted to mother. Stupid, right? Benjamin was not little Benny anymore. He was a grown man and yet she felt, in some ways, the need to protect him, as he needed to protect her.

Hercules was stronger of the two, but in Kirra's mind, their strengths were similar. They pulled at her with equal ferocity. She wished she could be like Katrina, lost in words, or like (what was his name?) the cook, distracted by Daedalus's wood-burning stove and dreaming up dinner. She wasn't. Currently, she was worried for Hercules. The sky had gone from blue to yellow and now it was sinking into lavenders and reds. Hercules had yet to return. She was worried for Benjamin, too. He hadn't spoken a word to her since they'd taken refuge in the inventor's home.

Taking a deep breath of tension-filled air, Kirra approached him as he stood by the window watching out at the gathering dark. She touched his arm. "Anything?"

"No."

"No sign of Hercules?"

"No," he said after several seconds of silence. "Unless you could call _that_ a sign."

Kirra followed the point of his finger and looked out the window. Above the trees, in the distance of the falling nighttime, rose a plume of smoke.

"What do you think it means?"

He shrugged. "All I know is it's been rising from the city for about an hour now."

Worry grew like a virus in her heart. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"Because I know you. You'd worry and you'd do something rash."

She wanted to hit him. He was doing it already. Making decisions for her like he used to when they were kids—making her go home when she knew she could stay out an hour or two more, making her eat when she wasn't hungry. That sort of thing. Now he was out to control who she worried about. Thank the gods Katrina had set aside her writing to approach the window with them or she might have punched Benjamin in the arm.

"What are we looking at?"

Kirra huffed. "Smoke rising above the trees. Benjamin deemed it unimportant and didn't tell us about it."

He merely frowned at her.

"Could Hercules be in trouble?" Katrina asked.

Benjamin shook his head. "I doubt it."

"And you're so sure why?" Kirra said with hands on her hips.

He turned to her with a dumbfounded expression. "He's Hercules, son of Zeus, the king of the gods. I doubt fire would undo him."

Falafel approached behind Katrina to look out the window. "Eh, he'll be fine," he said, with a nonchalant wave of his hand and went back to the wood stove.

Katrina shrugged. "You're probably right."

"The three of you are mad," Kirra said. "Hercules is not as infallible as you might think. I know him!"

Benjamin raised his eyebrows, unconcerned. "Yes, you've made that quite clear."

Angered, Kirra gave into her first thought and punched Benjamin squarely in the upper arm. With her puny strength, she wouldn't make much of an impact, but at least she could bruise his pride. Kirra didn't wait for him to evidence it in a wounded expression. She turned and waltzed straight out the door.

"Kirra!"

She paid no mind to the squeak of hinges or how they echoed through the encroaching forest, nor did she pay mind to Benjamin's advancement. She went out the door and down the few steps it would take her to reach ground, then she marched like one on a mission to the forest's edge. She didn't make it far before Benjamin grabbed her arm.

"Let go of me!"

"Don't be stupid, Kirra. He doesn't need you to save him."

"What do you know?" she said, pulling herself from his grasp.

But Benjamin grabbed both her arms and pulled her closer. "That anyone could be waiting for one of us to come running out here like a fool. Do you have any idea what Nikolos would do to us if he caught us … and what I would have to do to protect you?"

"I do."

The voice was not that of Kirra's, but a deeper one from behind. Benjamin pulled her behind him so fast, Kirra would find bruises on her arm the next morning.

Emerging from the forest was not the armor-clad brute the two of them had feared. It was Hercules, and slung over his shoulder was the unconscious form of Daedalus, the inventor.

Exhausted and injured, Hercules moved past the two who stared after him in a mix of astonishment and fear. "Get inside and snuff out the lamps," he said, out of breath. _"Hurry."  
_

* * *

 **Based on my stats, I'm worried some of you may have missed Chapter 9. I posted chapters 9 & 10 on the same day, so go back and make sure you've read it. Though, honestly, I think the visiting stats on this site are not quite accurate.** _  
_

 **Chapter 13 - Kirra has little time to reunite with Hercules as King Nikolos's soldiers descend upon the home of the inventor, but in the intervening seconds before all _Tartarus_ breaks loose, Kirra learns an uncomfortable truth, both of Hercules and herself.**


	13. Chapter 13

_**Kirra's Journey**_

 **Episode 3 – Outsider Looking In**

* * *

 _Chapter 13_

A memory surfaced of hiding in the cupboard from her stepfather. She and Benny had been playing in the backyard as kids do, digging in the ground, collecting bugs and chasing salamanders through the grass. Mother said it was all right, but Benny had to leave before the sun dipped below the tree line. They'd been having too much fun and Kirra lost track of time. She and Benny had forgotten about Hiram until they heard him bellowing from the backdoor.

They'd run hand in hand through the woods to escape him and doubled back toward the house, but they hadn't been as quick as they thought. There had been no time for Benny to run home and pretend their mistake hadn't happened. Meriba had hid them in the cupboard when Hiram came thundering back into the house.

Kirra didn't remember her mother's cries as much as she remembered hiding in the cupboard with Benny, their arms wrapped around each other and their hearts beating nearly in unison, while Hiram stalked the house looking for them. He'd found them eventually, but the waiting of it, the anticipation of his wrath and wondering what he would do when he found them was the worst part.

That memory was no less terrify than current events.

In the open, with darkness falling like a shroud upon the clearing, Kirra had stood as solid as stone watching Hercules pass them with Daedalus slung over his shoulder. Had it not been for Benjamin pulling her with him after Hercules, the soldiers approaching the inventor's home might surely have captured her.

Benjamin closed and bolted the door behind them and proceeded to snuff out every flickering oil lamp in the house. Neither Katrina nor the cook, who had lit a flame to the wood stove, argued when he extinguished their lights. They had only to see the fear and exhaustion in the half-god's eyes to know they were in trouble.

As the lights went out one by one, Kirra got but one good look at Hercules since she'd seen him in the waning light of evening. The gash above his eye was still raw, as was the cut on his arm, but since their separation in the woods, he looked worse. Soot streaked his clothing and singe marks bubbled patches of skin on his arms. Daedalus, hands red and burned, was no better off. The smoke they had seen atop the trees had been no figment of their imagination. There _had_ been a fire. Hercules and Daedalus _had_ been in trouble.

Kirra moved to go to him while he shoved Falafel under the bed, but as the last light went out behind her, she saw Hercules take Katrina's hand and vanish into the darkness. He didn't look her way in the final moments.

An arm stole around her waist which might have made her cry out if she didn't already know who it was. She was in Benjamin's arms and he had them crouched behind a worktable when the memory surfaced. Kirra went back in time, the only sound being their collective breaths and the beating of their hearts. In her mind, her mother was screaming and Hiram was pounding the floor in search of them, but in the present, the pounding feet were outside the inventor's home.

Soldiers!

One of them barked instructions and several others marched into the forest. The sound of their boots crunching dead leaves underfoot was as intense as the pressure of Benjamin's hand at her back and his breath in her face.

"Nothing, sir," one of them called out.

"He came in this direction. I'm sure of it."

Kirra knew the voice as surely as if she had seen his face. It was Perdix, and what he said next came as no surprise.

"Check the house."

Fear hitched in her breast. She couldn't breathe. She couldn't think. Thoughts of Hercules taking Katrina's hand banished in the terror of being caught. It wasn't as if she hadn't been captured once before, thrown in a dungeon and forgotten. Though afraid, Kirra hadn't feared dying at the hands of Prince Pervia. Nikolos was different. She knew, thanks to Hercules, the brutality of which the king was capable. She wasn't ready to die. She had too much left to do, too many places left to explore.

"Don't be afraid." Benjamin's voice came to her, a whisper of breath. He'd taken her face in both his hands. His nose brushed hers. "I won't let anything happen to you. I promise."

His eyes were but a glimmer in the dark, but a resoluteness within them stilled her. He would die to protect her if he had to.

The backdoor creaked open. No one had thought to secure it and no one uttered a murmur of fear or surprise. The house was as quiet as death save for the wood floor groaning under the newcomers' weight. It was too dark in the home to know how many.

However, in the seconds before the quiet turned into a cacophony of noise, Kirra knew nothing but Benjamin. Something happened which took her by such surprise even Hercules and his safety were temporarily forgotten. Benjamin kissed her.

No one had ever kissed her before. Her mother, yes. Who hadn't been kissed by their mother or father? But a man! Of all the men she dreamed of kissing for the first time, she hadn't, not in her wildest of dreams (those were reserved for Hercules), imagined a grown up Benny to place his lips upon hers. It wasn't a quick peck on the lips either. He took his time, even as Perdix and his merry band of soldiers crept toward them, his lips lingered as though this were his last few seconds on earth and the taste of her mouth his last experience.

When he broke from her, Kirra was so stunned she could barely react to his sudden absence. He slipped from her hands, rose to his feet and went to meet either his destiny or his doom.

There was a cry, a crash, the breaking of an earthenware vessel somewhere within the home, and a grunt of pain. Katrina screamed and Hercules let loose a fierce growl, followed by the sound of one fist making contact with a boney face. At Kirra's feet came a heavy crash, and though the room was dark, she knew it wasn't Hercules or Benjamin. It was a soldier and he was writhing in pain. Kirra didn't give him a chance to gain his feet. She groped the top of the worktable and brought down upon the soldier's head the first thing she found—a heavy glass jar. He lay motionless as light began to flicker in the center of the room.

Falafel stood with an oil lamp in his hand and a heavy iron frying pan in the other. "Is everyone all right?"

There was no immediate answer. Hercules was tossing an unconscious soldier to the floor and moving to assist Katrina to her feet, but to Kirra's horror, as Falafel moved about the room with their one and only light, he illuminated Benjamin bent over the figure of Perdix, choking him.

Benjamin's face had turned an unhealthy red, but his hands around Perdix's neck were white. A runnel of saliva slipped from between his clenched teeth onto the hawk-faced man's cheek, and though Perdix fought, he was losing his grip on consciousness. Benjamin was killing him.

" _Benny! NO!"_

Had her voice alone been what made him stop, Kirra might have felt relief, but it was the might of Hercules that stopped him. He picked Benjamin up bodily and threw him from Perdix. He landed in a heap alongside the other unconscious soldier while Perdix coughed and choked.

"He had a knife!" Benjamin screamed, getting to his feet without losing his stride. He met Hercules face to face over a prone Perdix. "He was trying to kill me, and he would have killed Kirra, too! I stopped him."

Hercules spotted the knife and kicked it at Falafel's feet. When he turned his eyes to Benjamin, he was fuming. "You can stop a man without killing him. You're not a soldier anymore, Benjamin. It's time you learn a new technique."

" _I_ protected her. What would _you_ have done?"

Kirra waited for their stance to come to blows, but Hercules, being the man she knew and loved, backed down and helped Perdix to his feet.

"Exactly," Benjamin said, contempt coloring his voice. He briefly met Kirra's eyes across the room, enough for him to register the doubt within them. He stormed from the house, letting the back door slam behind him.

The slamming door echoed in the now quiet room, hitting Kirra with the force of Benjamin's rage. She stepped over the downed soldier and moved to follow him, but Hercules gently stopped her. "Let him go," he said. The look he gave her told Kirra he understood Benjamin better than she realized. "Let him cool off."

She stared at the door. "Will he be all right?"

"There were only three of them." He turned from her and pointed at Perdix. "Falafel, put down the lamp and tie him up. There's some twine over there. I'll take care of these two."

Katrina came to her side. "You okay?"

"I'm not hurt. I heard you scream…"

"One of them grabbed me." Katrina smiled and raised her hand. In it was her quill. "They say it's mightier than the sword."

Kirra grinned, but her worry for Benjamin wouldn't let her laugh. An inkling of the boy had heightened in ferocity within the man. The night Hiram yanked them out of the cupboard was the same night Benjamin had gone nose to nose with him, and it hadn't ended with a good talking to or a swat on the butt. Benny had wound up with a busted nose and a good-sized knot on the side of his head (his parents did not allow him over to play again). He'd taken his punches to protect her from Hiram's drunken onslaught. Benjamin had reacted no differently here, but the man he'd gone up against was not his enemy. Did Benjamin know that?

"Hey," Katrina said, hand on her shoulder. "He'll be okay. Come on. Let's get this place lit up."

* * *

An hour later, Perdix was neatly tied to a chair, a cloth over his mouth to keep him quiet. Hercules had given him something to drink and inspected his bruised neck for damage before tying him up. Benjamin may not have appreciated the care he took, but Kirra did. Hercules himself was injured. Yet, he took the time to care for one who was his enemy. In contrast, Benjamin's resolution was not to die to protect her, but to kill. What had changed the boy she used to know?

The other two soldiers Hercules bound, gagged, and tossed in the corner. Benjamin had been right. The fire had not undone Hercules. He was in good health, though a bit weary. Daedalus had not fared as well. Hercules had placed him upon the bed before the fight began. Her only indication whether the inventor was alive or dead was the up and down movement of his chest.

For now, at least, he was alive and Hercules had survived the night. All of them had. Kirra wanted to be grateful for that, but as she sat guarding Perdix (who was busily eyeing her with ugly disdain), she couldn't help but wish she had stayed home with Alcmene and Jason. Things might have gone much differently if she had. For one, she wouldn't be torn between her concern for Benjamin and her growing dread of him, and for another, she wouldn't be here watching Katrina tend to Hercules's wounds with a torn scrap of her own skirts and knowing he found the scribe's exposed legs worthy of his greater attention.

Kirra rubbed at the ache in her chest and turned away to find Falafel offering her a plate of food.

"I steamed some corn the inventor had. Would you like something to eat?" He gave her a smile that had seen better days.

"No, thank you. I'm not hungry. Too much excitement."

"Of course," he said, gave Perdix a snarl, and brought his offering to Hercules and Katrina.

Kirra eyed the hawk-faced man. "Why do you look at me that way? I did you nothing. If you want to blame someone for your predicament, blame yourself."

He raised a chin at the door.

"You think him a traitor?" she asked and Perdix gave a nod. "Perhaps, he is. Anyone who follows after a king as lowly and despicable as Nikolos has a right to turn traitor, if their heart is right. And his is. What does that say about you?"

Perdix frowned.

"That's what I thought."

Another hour later and Benjamin still hadn't come inside. Katrina had taken her turn at guard duty and Hercules was busy tending to Daedalus, which left Kirra alone to worry about Benjamin. She watched him from a rear window sitting on the ground, his back to the house. The moon was high, obscured often by the gathering clouds, but at times its light broke through and illuminated his light colored robes in the darkness. She continued to feel the pressure of his lips lingering from the not so distant past. It was a confounding, yet strangely comforting thought, because she could just as easily see his ugly look of hate when he strangled Perdix.

"He needs to face his demons, whatever they are."

Kirra turned, surprised to see Hercules standing over her. She fought to banish the image of him staring at Katrina's legs. If she didn't, she wouldn't be able to look him in the eye.

"How do you know him?" he asked.

"He was my friend in Endor for a while. I never thought to find him here."

"Any idea how he came to work for Nikolos?"

"He's not spoken to me of it. Last I saw of him, he was a fourteen-year-old boy who moved away with his parents. I don't know where life has taken him since."

"This might be a redundant question, but do you trust him?"

Kirra gave him a half-hearted smile. "With my life. Though, I don't know if I trust him with anyone else's. He seems conflicted."

"Do you remember the story I told you? About Derk?"

Kirra nodded, remembering the story of sand and monsters and an assassin who had taken a wrong turn in life. "Yes."

"Your friend reminds me of him. Their lives may have taken similar paths. The only difference is I think I may have stopped Benjamin from taking his first life. He's still young, though. He doesn't have a wife or children to ground him like Derk has. He's going to need a friend, someone who can help him to channel the rage within him."

"You mean me."

Hercules scratched his head. "Uh…no, actually."

"Oh." She didn't know whether she should be insulted or not.

"Not that you aren't capable of being a positive influence on him, but right now, he's too close to you, too attached to you. I was thinking more of Cheiron's Academy."

Kirra looked away, bothered that he was able to say that without jealousy. "Cheiron? The centaur?"

"Well, he's passed on," Hercules said and paused, losing his train of thought. "But there are other good instructors there. Do you think he'd consider it?"

Kirra shrugged. "Maybe. I don't know. I could ask."

"No, I'll ask him later when this is resolved."

"You don't trust him."

Hercules frowned apologetically. "Not right now. I'm sorry, Kirra."

"He is a good person, Hercules."

"And I believe you," he said with a comforting smile and a hand on her shoulder. "I'm not ready to throw him under the chariot just yet. Were I such a person, I'd have left Derk in Sparta."

Kirra was grateful to Hercules for his honesty, and his generosity, but it didn't change things. Benjamin had attempted to kill someone for her sake. His anger had mounted slowly. She hadn't seen it when he was merely a soldier of Nikolos to her. In Kirra's mind, all soldiers had the mentality of a jackass; attack first and ask questions later. Coming to know the man she once knew as a boy, she thought the soldier side of him would mellow. She was wrong. She'd lived too many years of her life under the control of her stepfather not to sense what Benjamin might be capable of.

Would the Academy do him good? Kirra didn't know.

"Did you find him?"

His question threw her off guard. "What?"

"Your stepfather, did you find him?"

She could have pretended and told him she didn't know what he was talking about, but what would be the point. Katrina had clearly told him her side of the story. She shook her head.

"No," she answered, curious about the conversation between Hercules and Katrina. "I realized I was chasing a ghost."

Nor would she mention the woman in white who told her she had a destiny. She was beginning to wonder if she had not imagined the whole thing—Hiram, the woman in white, this farfetched idea of a destiny. Life does not float along some string controlled by three hapless women with nothing better to do than spin a spindle. The idea was ludicrous. Even if it weren't, searching for her destiny would only find her meandering through the well-known proverb of not being able to see the forest for the trees. A destiny would be lost in its own making, and Kirra felt indelibly lost.

Katrina called Hercules's name from her place beside Perdix. When they turned, she was pointing at the bed. "Daedalus is waking up."

* * *

The story Hercules and Daedalus told of escaping the lab's destruction had captured Kirra's attention. It was a wonder the two of them made it out alive what with the burns both of them shared. Snagging hot coals out of the kiln in order to set his own laboratory on fire had badly singed poor Daedalus's hands.

"I couldn't take it anymore," he told Hercules. "After Nikolos told me what he did to you, with my own invention no less, I was more determined than ever to be done with it all."

His intention had been to destroy the lab, burn it to cinders and leave nothing behind. He hadn't known Perdix would be there overseeing the work. Nikolos's henchman called in guards to stop him. Thankfully, Hercules arrived before the building could burn down around Daedalus himself. He took down a few guards and Perdix too (evidenced by Mr. Hawk-face's grunt of dissatisfaction) for good measure on the way out. According to Hercules, the lab exploded behind them. How Perdix managed to escape and follow him out here was a mystery. Even if he could talk, he wasn't likely to tell the tale.

Daedalus himself hadn't been eager to sit and talk after what had happened, either. When he first awoke, he was disoriented and grouchy, and not wanting anyone to fuss over him. It took a bit of coaxing on the part of Hercules and Katrina to get him to open up.

After the tale of their misadventure in the laboratory, Daedalus began to talk of his son. "After Icarus died, all my ideas were born out of rage and pain."

"You felt responsible for his death," Katrina said, dabbing at the burns on the old man's hands with juice from an Aloe Vera plant. The greedy glint Kirra had thought to see in Katrina's eyes was not there. She had softened to the old man.

"I could have stopped it," he said, sure in his guilt. "There were two sets of wings. One for each of us."

Hercules sat forward on the edge of Daedalus's bed. "So, you and Icarus went flying together."

Daedalus grunted in agreement. "I still remember the first time. He was _so scared_ , but by the end, he was _soaring_. He could never get enough."

Daedalus told the story with such passion it brought a smile to Kirra's face. She could recall the sensation of soaring through the air when her father would spin her around. It was the only memory she had of him. In a way, she understood the thrill Icarus must have experienced. The story was beautiful, but nonetheless sad.

Daedalus hung his head. "The day he died, he came into my workroom as I was struggling with a new invention. He wanted me to go flying with him. 'Later,' I said. After a while, I noticed how quiet it was. I went to look for him."

The inventor's voice broke. Kirra couldn't help but glance at Hercules. Grief and memory had etched onto his face and she knew without having to ask what he was feeling, what he was thinking of. He had a wife and three children, two boys and a little girl, taken from him in the blink of an eye. Hercules wore his love for them on his sleeve as clearly as he wore his pain. This wasn't the first time Kirra felt separate from him, not a part of his life.

"I..." Daedalus began, his voice ragged. "I heard a voice far up in the clouds. It was Icarus crying out for me. I had warned him against flying too close to the sun. There was _nothing_ I could do. Except watch him fall." He pounded an injured fist on the tabletop, suddenly angry. "Or I could have gone with him! Instead of being busy with all my inventions."

"You can't change the past, Daedalus," Hercules said. "All you can do is work to better your future. If you don't, if you're not careful, the past can change you. Be the man Icarus knew and loved."

"I'm not sure if I can or not."

A tear worked its way down Kirra's cheek. She wasn't a part of Hercules and Daedalus's shared past, or their shared pain, but she understood what he meant. The past can change you if you let it.

Benjamin understood it did as well. Movement out the corner of her eye had her turning to see him standing inside the backdoor, tears in his own eyes. Their eyes met as Daedalus said, "But, I do know it's long past time I started trying." Connected as they were, it felt as though Benjamin had spoken those words to her, but regret soon clouded over him. He broke eye contact with her and left the way he came in.

He'd closed and opened the door so quietly no one had seen him but Kirra. Everyone else had their attention fixed on Daedalus and Hercules. Distracted, none of them saw her follow him out the backdoor.

None of them except for Perdix.

* * *

She didn't find him at first.

Stepping from the inventor's house, Kirra felt surrounded by the forest and its sounds. Crickets took the birds' job of chirping on the night side. Owls hooted from the treetops, and the darkness of night was black as the cloak she left on the end of Daedalus's bed. The moon did not illuminate Benjamin as it had earlier. The clouds had grown thicker.

The crack of a branch to her right had Kirra's heart racing. She followed the sound around the side of the house to find him sitting on a fallen tree watching the fireflies dance across the pond.

Kirra walked to his side.

"I'm sorry," he said, his head low. He had known she would follow. "I don't expect you to forgive—"

Her hand upon his head silenced him.

Whether he wanted forgiveness for his actions or his kiss, it matter little to Kirra. Hercules taught her it was better to forgive than hold a grudge, though it was a struggle where her stepfather was concerned. Benjamin, however, didn't deserve her resentment. He was not her stepfather, and once being a part of King Nikolos's army did not make him Nikolos himself. He was Benjamin of Endor, her friend and lost companion. She couldn't hate him if she tried.

She sat beside him, letting her hand slip from his head and through his thick hair to rest beside his neck. His heartbeat was a palpable and thrumming engine against her palm. She gave his closed eyes and his parted lips an unflustered glance and placed her head upon his shoulder.

"Tell me," she whispered to him and waited for his answer as the forest around them spoke to the night.

"There's nothing to tell."

"What happened to you when you left Endor? Where did you go?"

Benjamin breathed deeply and shuddered with the exhale. "We moved here to the island and stayed in one of the villages nearby."

Silence between them lengthened. The night sounds returned and Kirra watched the same fireflies skirting the pond. Benjamin had gone rigid like a corpse. He didn't want to continue, but Kirra wasn't about to let him off so easy.

"What was its name?"

"I don't remember. We didn't stay long. Father didn't feel… _safe_." He spat the words out like rotten food. "We moved into Chalcis when I was sixteen."

"Why didn't he feel safe?"

"Because he was a coward," he said with no hesitation. "I saw it, my mother saw it. Only one who couldn't see it was him. I don't know why Mother put up with him for as long as she did. The day she left Chalcis was the last time I ever saw her."

"She left you behind? Why?"

Benjamin shook his head. The reason why was not important to him, but he spoke it anyway and for that Kirra was grateful. He was letting his walls down.

"I had already joined the military. I got tired of listening to their constant fighting, and living on what little money Mother could bring into the household. _He_ was too afraid to work."

"Because of my stepfather."

He didn't answer. For some time, he simply stared out over the pond.

"He came to me one day after Mother left," he finally said, his voice soft but with an edge. "He came to the barracks looking for me, cowering around the other soldiers like a beaten dog, begging me to come back home. They laughed at him. They laughed at _me_."

In the pale and cloud-filtered light of the moon, Benjamin's clenched hand looked devoid of blood. Kirra took it, forced it open and laced her fingers with his.

"Tell me," she said again. "What did you do?"

His tight grip told her he was struggling with the truth locked in his chest. It weighed upon him like a frozen block of ice.

"I did nothing. I watched them jeer him and push him and knock him to the ground like he was nothing more than garbage. And he was garbage. He wasn't a man. He was a child who didn't have what it took to stand up to bullies." Benjamin gave a wry laugh, one not of humor, but of pain and it ended as quickly as it came. "They beat him to death in front of me … and I let them. I killed my own father."

Kirra squeezed his hand. "No, you didn't. _They_ did. They would have done the same to you. You couldn't have stopped it."

Benjamin looked at her, his eyes sparkling with wetness in the moonlight. "If it had been you, I'd have killed every single one of them. I'd have done it for you, Kirra. Why couldn't I do it for my father?"

The real tears came then. Benjamin buried his face in his hands, dropping hers in the process. He shook like rumbling volcanic ground, emotion his projectile, but Kirra held him in her arms and let him cry onto her shoulder. The story of Iolaus crying over the body of a deceased child became unreal to her in light of Benjamin's pain, but she felt he wasn't telling her everything. There was more to him. This story of his father's death wasn't what had altered the boy she once knew. A wealth of regret had grown within him over the years since she'd last seen him, and she was one of them.

He pulled from her before the onslaught was over, reining in his emotions and walking away from her. His feet had sloshed into water before he knew how far he'd gone.

"I'm sorry," he said, his back to her, sniffling and batting at his eyes.

Kirra went to him, but kept her distance. "No, it's all right. You should let yourself feel it. Let yourself move past it."

"What if I'm not ready to? What if I want to leave the past where it belongs?"

"You aren't, though. Like this, you'll live it every day."

He listened, but his back took the shape of the wall between them. "I've lived every second of my life since we left Endor through the eyes of your stepfather. He saw a runt, a scrawny child who had no more backbone than his father. That is not who I am. It will never be."

"I wish we hadn't become friends," Kirra said softly, feeling his words like an accusation. Did he truly want to lay the guilt of Hiram upon her shoulders? He turned and what she saw in him told her no.

"Don't say that."

"You would not have known Hiram. He would not have tormented your family, and your father might still be alive."

"You heard him," Benjamin said, nodding to the house. "You can't change the past, and there was no changing your stepfather. He would have bullied a man like my father whether we were friends or not. The years we spent together were the best years of my life, Kirra. I want that back."

"So do I, and we're going to take it back, you and I...preferably with Hercules."

Benjamin sighed. "Ah yes, _him_."

"Yes, him." Kirra grabbed his hand, not letting him pull away from her again. "It was he who saved me from Hiram. He helped me escape that life."

"It should have been me."

"Maybe, but that wasn't your destiny."

"I don't believe in destiny," he said as though the word itself were unreal.

"I don't know if I do either, but we're not going to take on Nikolos and his army on our own."

"No, I guess not. I don't have the strength of Hercules."

"But you have your own, and I trust it. I trust _you_ , Benjamin."

"Do you? After what happened—"

"What happened happened. You made a mistake in the heat of the moment. Hercules once told me anyone can change if their heart is right."

"Wait a minute," he said, confused. "Are we talking about the kiss or the fact that I almost killed somebody?"

Kirra blushed and averted her eyes. She couldn't help but laugh, though she wasn't quite sure how to answer him. If she were honest with herself, despite it being her first kiss, she hadn't minded his impetuous action, nor did she consider it a mistake. In fact, she had enjoyed it. She would rather it had been Hercules, but Benny wasn't a bad second option.

She brought her eyes hesitantly back to his. "Benjamin, don't be ridiculous. You didn't kill anyone."

A smile lit his face as though the moon had broken from the clouds. It banished her earlier sense of dread about him, and started her heart. When he stepped closer, Kirra let him. A part of her was glad Hercules hadn't seen her step from the house. She had allowed his attention to Daedalus (and his obvious attention to one well-known scribe's legs) to become a wedge between them. An imagined wedge, one she knew was one sided, but it was there. Yet, a part of her wanted to back away, wanted to tell Benjamin he wasn't what she wanted. She wanted Hercules. She wanted the life he could offer: the open road, the adventure, and in the future, what he'd once shared with Deianeira. But Benjamin was here. Benjamin was now. He looked at her in the way Hercules should have, and in his smile she saw a promise Hercules may not be able to fulfill. What would he think if he saw her with Benjamin?

In her chest, her heart beat faster than a drum. Benjamin touched her cheek, framing the side of her face with one hand. When he brought his lips down to hers, Kirra realized her heart was beating for two outcomes. One, to experience the sort of kiss she had only ever read about, the kiss of princes and princesses; and two, for Hercules to find them, to see Benjamin kissing her. His reaction would be the answer to her question.

Footsteps neared, and instead of Hercules's voice, Kirra felt a hand at the back of her head grip and pull. Ripped from Benjamin, the first thought to occur to her was her stepfather. He always grabbed for hair first, but a blade at her throat told her otherwise. She opened her mouth to scream.

"Don't," came a gruff voice at her ear. "Don't even think about it or the traitor gets it."

A gruff cry of pain called to her. It was Benjamin down on his knees, his face white with pain. Standing over him was his commanding officer, the one they had left buried in leaves and a thicket of thorny branches, toting a splintered and thick-as-an-arm branch in his hand like a baton. He'd hit Benjamin hard, knocking the wind out of him and restraining his cry of pain.

"Well well, boy," he said, sure to keep his voice down. "You finally found yourself a girl, eh? And she's a pretty one, too."

Kirra inched from the hand attempting to touch her face.

"Leave her alone," Benjamin wheezed.

Upis lazed his way back toward Benjamin, a smile on his face. "I hate to break up love birds, but a traitor's a traitor. You know what I mean?"

"You don't need her. Let her go."

A laugh struggled somewhere within him, but Upis kept quiet. "Now, we can't do that, can we, Crepas?"

"No, sir," said the other one at Kirra's ear. His laugh made her skin crawl. "King wants this one."

" _Take me,"_ Benjamin begged, bringing himself to his feet. "I'm the one you want."

Upis brought him back down with one quick swing of his makeshift baton. He grabbed a wad of Benjamin's dark hair and yanked him back to his knees. Hercules could end this in a heartbeat. He could save her, but Kirra bit her tongue. It wasn't worth Benjamin's life. Hercules may not make it in time to save the both of them, and the thought of soldiers leading Benjamin to his death was too much to bear. Even now, his every intake of breath was a stab of pain to both of them.

"That's not entirely true, boy," Upis said to Benjamin's upturned face. "You see, the king wants his revenge on Hercules more than he wants a useless traitor like you." He pointed the baton at Kirra. "Hercules fancies her."

"That's what the king says," the other said, giggling, tantalized by the idea. His grip about her tightened, his free hand attempting to claw in places he had no business. "I think I fancy her, too."

"Too bad for you, eh?"

Benjamin couldn't win, but he fought against Upis's grip anyway. Hair follicles pulled from his scalp one by one. He didn't feel them. What he saw was the soldier he knew as Crepas with his hands on Kirra. "Get your hands off of her."

"I'll scream," Kirra feigned, but the threat had its intended reaction. He backed down.

Upis didn't. He was on his feet, baton threatening, one hand entangled within Benjamin's hair. "You do and he'll slit your throat. Dead or alive, the king said. Hercules will come either way." Upis tapped the baton to his chest. "I, on the other, would like to get you their alive. Why?" He knelt beside Benjamin. "You see your pretty girl over there?"

Benjamin saw, but he couldn't answer. He was too intent, too focused on relaying to Kirra that he would get her out of this, that he would protect her. He had promised to years ago and he wasn't going to let this little setback break it. Whatever he had to do, her life was more important to him than anyone's.

Upis pulled at his hair. "I asked you a question."

" _I see her,"_ he said between clenched teeth.

"Nikolos has a show planned for Hercules that will rock the foundations of Tartarus itself. She's the bait, boy, and you're gonna be the sideshow attraction."

Benjamin knew it was coming. He locked his eyes on Kirra as the branch came down on his head. The world went dark. He thought he heard a scream, a voice born along by the winds of semi-consciousness, but there was nothing he could do to help her. Unconsciousness had pulled him like a lover into its embrace. Kirra was on her own.

* * *

 **Some interesting facts : Over the course of writing this story, my idea of Benjamin changed from a simple, foolish guard to a character with depth. I drew inspiration from another source, which is influencing an original story I'm currently writing, of a character so conflicted by his past, he's not sure who to be in the present. I'll give no hints as to the source, as I don't want you to draw any comparisons, but if you're clever you might have already guessed it. Anyway, one other interesting fact is the name of one of the soldiers above - Crepas. I needed to give the guy a name, but I couldn't come up with one. I just knew the guy was one creepy-ass character. Thus, the name Crepas. :D**

 **Chapter 14 - Taken before King Nikolos, Kirra has a tough decision to make.**


	14. Chapter 14

_**Kirra's Journey**_

 **Episode 3 – Outsider Looking In**

* * *

 _Chapter 14_

Silence had descended, and in it, Hercules thought of what needed to be done. Daedalus needed to set matters straight with Nikolos once and for all, and he had to be with his friend when he did it. The problem was Nikolos wasn't a man who let go easily. In Daedalus, he had the means to destroy anyone in his path, Hercules included. Going to Nikolos with a plea for release would not work. Nikolos didn't hear pleas. The only answer was to get out, get Daedalus far away from Euboea, get Katrina sniffing out a new story, get Benjamin to the Academy and Kirra home to his mother. Then he could come back and deal with Nikolos alone. The question now was how were they going to get out of Chalcis when stone walls surrounded them on all sides?

Hercules had a feeling getting out would not be as easy as it had been to get in.

Daedalus himself broke the silence by rhythmically, and perhaps therapeutically, squeezing a malleable ball of _something_ in his hand while Katrina mended the burns on his other.

"What's that?" Katrina asked.

Daedalus looked down at it in his hand and smiled. He gave the ball a toss into the air. "One of the toys I made for Icarus."

He tossed it to Katrina, who caught it deftly. The ball was unexpectedly pliable and infused with the warmth of Daedalus's hand, but it quickly cooled to her touch. "It's gooey," she said. "What do you do with it?"

"All sorts of things. It's hard enough to bounce like a ball and soft enough to mold into shapes." Daedalus smiled. "I like to use it as a stress reliever."

Katrina handed the ball to Hercules who gave it a squeeze of his own. _Hmm,_ he thought with a laugh. _It stands up to the power of Hercules._

"This is amazing, Daedalus. I can imagine boys the age of Icarus would love this. It's addicting. What do you call it?"

"Oh, it doesn't have a name. It's a silly little thing I made out of nuts, mud and oil."

Hercules tossed the ball back to Daedalus. "What do you say we put the silly, nutty thing away and we devise a way to tell Nikolos you're through working for him?"

Daedalus began squeezing the ball again and sighed. "I'd like that very much, but there's one problem."

Concerned, Hercules sat forward, elbows on his knees. "What?"

"The Megalith you defeated…"

"Yeah?"

"It wasn't the only one I was working on."

"There's another one of those things?" Hercules got to his feet, shocked and annoyed.

"Unfortunately," Daedalus said, squeezing the ball a mite faster. "It's more powerful and less vulnerable than the first. That's why I went back to the lab. I wanted to destroy it before Nikolos could use it. If it didn't burn up, it'll be the most powerful weapon the world has ever seen. And this time it won't be so easy to destroy."

" _Easy?_ That's not the word I would have used."

Katrina set the last bandage on Daedalus's hand. "Well, let's hope it roasted in the fire."

"I couldn't tell," Daedalus said. "With all the smoke, I wasn't sure if the fire got to it."

"Uh, Hercules." It was Falafel, taking his turn at guarding Perdix. The other two soldiers were slowly waking and blinking their eyes, but it was not these two that concerned him. He was pointing at Perdix. "I'm much better at cooking than I am figuring people out. And speaking of roasting, I need to get back to work. I'm losing dinars every second I sit here staring at this one."

"Get to the point, Falafel."

"He knows the answer to your question."

Hercules walked across the room to Perdix, Katrina and Daedalus following, and removed the cloth tied about his mouth. The man looked derisively at him, but he indicated to Katrina to give him a drink of water anyway.

"Tell us what you know, Perdix," he said when the statesman had his full. "Was the second Megalith destroyed in the fire?"

"Why should I tell you?"

"Because if you don't, when we leave, you and your friends will stay behind as you are. One can only hope someone will find you within a week or two. I can't promise you what condition you'll be in when they do, though."

Hercules smiled at Perdix's angry frown. It told him Perdix wasn't as high on Nikolos's list of important people as he might wish to be.

"We were able to salvage the essential parts," he said begrudgingly, but a grin soon spread upon his hawkish face. "It will be waiting on you when you get there."

"That's where you're wrong, Perdix. We're not going anywhere, except as far away from Euboea as we can get. You're going to be my messenger pigeon to Nikolos. Tell him—"

A sound like the yip of a small dog reached Hercules's ear. No one else seemed to have heard it. Katrina was watching their captive, impertinent hands on her hips, and Daedalus had begun to pace restlessly; a substitute for the lack of the silly toy he'd left on the table. Perdix, despite his bonds, laughed. For one who had so little options left, he didn't act as one who had lost the game.

"Why are you laughing?" Hercules asked. He didn't have a good feeling about this.

"Because, you're the one who's wrong, Hercules. You'll be going back to the king. Trust me."

Understanding hit Hercules like a punch to the gut (and he'd experienced those enough to know the feeling). He gave the room a quick three-sixty, but there was really no need. He knew the answer to his question before he asked it.

"Where's Kirra?"

When the other three looked about the house, as confounded as he was, Hercules felt sick to his stomach. He didn't waste his time pummeling an answer out of Perdix, though he could have. He bounded out the backdoor calling Kirra's name. If he were a praying man, he would have prayed to hear her identify her location, or for Benjamin to come around the corner and say she was with him, but neither thought came to pass.

Hercules rounded the house to the front. Nothing. Seconds later, running to the other side of the house, he stumbled into Katrina near the pond.

She was breathless, shaking her head. "She's not here, and neither is Benjamin."

"No, damn it. Kirra!"

If she could hear him, she wasn't able to answer. Hercules felt something dangerously close to exploding within him. Perdix and his men were nothing but a ruse, a way to bring his guard down, to make him think they were safe. And he had. He'd allowed Benjamin to leave the confines of Daedalus's home, a place they could have made a stand, and Kirra had followed him.

"By the gods," Katrina said. "Hercules, look."

Hercules turned from his inspection of the darkened forest around them to see her pointing at a spot near the pond. Lying on its side in the mud was one of Kirra's boots. He couldn't deny it now. Kirra was gone, and Hercules would bet every dinar in his pocket that Nikolos had taken her.

* * *

The winding halls hadn't changed since the afternoon, shadowed corridors lit by torched sconces at intervals. Kirra recalled the closer she, Benjamin and Katrina had come to the king's chambers, there had been open windows allowing in natural sunlight. Now the only thing the open windows brought in was the chill night air and the terrible dread of what might be coming.

Kirra wouldn't allow the fear to overwhelm her. _The only hero I have is myself,_ she kept repeating. She clung to the words. They were her rock when the world seemed to shake. But would this predicament prove as easy to escape from as the last? Kirra didn't think so. There wasn't going to be a dungeon she could spring from with a little sweet talk. There was no prince here trying to usurp the throne, only a king bent on revenge and she had a pretty good idea Nikolos wasn't one for singing, not even from one who purportedly had "the voice of a goddess." She and Benjamin had found themselves caught in the middle of an old war between the King of Euboea and the son of Zeus. If she didn't come up with some way to get them out of this, they might not make it to morning.

"Keep moving," the one known as Upis said, poking the butt end of his spear at her back.

Kirra moved forward as commanded. Hands bound behind her back, she trudged after the creepy soldier who'd laughed in her ear. Benjamin's commanding officer prodding from the rear. Benjamin was somewhere farther down the corridor, dragged like a sack of potatoes toward what Kirra hoped was not their doom. She had to keep her composure if she were going to face the king. She had not yet met him face to face, but Katrina's description left her stomach in knots.

Ascending the final flight of steps, the guard made a hard left down another corridor. This was the fork in the road where Katrina and Benjamin went in to see the king, and now it was her turn. The harsh prodding of Upis told her she had hesitated. Kirra straightened her back. She couldn't show fear or reservation. If she could stand up to Hiram, who was no different a brute or bully than the one she was going to meet, she could hold her own against the king.

 _The only hero I have is myself._

Two guards stood outside a set of double doors. They opened them upon their approach and Upis ushered Kirra into the king's chamber. Not in any grand fashion, mind you. She entered the room on her feet, her shoulders squared and her back straight, ready to meet anything the king might be willing to dish out. The second she crossed the threshold, she found herself sprawled onto the floor, nearly planting her face into its cold, hard surface. Two others threw Benjamin unconscious beside her. Blood coated one side of his face. Kirra scrambled to his side and Upis's booted foot found her gut, doubling her over on the hard stone floor.

"Keep your distance, girl," he growled at her.

Struggling for breath, a rage built within Kirra she had only ever experienced with one person. Nikolos's guards were well armored, but there were a few vulnerable places they tended to forget about—one was their face, the other was their lower legs. Kirra's eyes latched onto the only exposed part of Upis she could see and her teeth followed. She struck snake-like and sank them into the flesh of his ankle as deep as she could.

He howled and pulled at her hair, but Kirra wouldn't let go. After what he'd done to Benjamin, she wasn't going to let him off so easily. The more he pulled, the deeper she sank her teeth. Had another guard not landed his boot into her lower back, she might have come away with a chunk of flesh. Kirra wasn't going down without a fight. Even as Upis howled, she held her scream of pain. Her back was a favorite spot of Hiram's boot, too, and she had learned how to suffer it quietly.

It was in this quiet, save for Upis's cries, that she heard laughter. Not for long, though. Upis had a hold of her hair and was dragging her to her feet when a voice broke up the fight.

"Put her down, Upis."

This was not the voice she wanted to hear, of Benjamin or even Hercules come to her rescue. Across the room, laughing as if he were watching a comedic play was King Nikolos. He sat upon an ornate throne of tusks, fur and leather bindings, one arm upon the armrest, the other resting comfortably on his knee. Nikolos was just as Katrina had described him—bald, scarred and ugly. He wore armor from neck to feet, not the sort which had left Upis unprotected. The only part of him exposed was his head. Kirra watched him approach. Her knees were barely touching the floor with Upis's fist tangled in her hair.

"That's no way to treat our guest."

"But sir, she—"

"I said _put her down!_ "

Upis let go of her hair, dropping Kirra to the floor at the king's feet and limped away.

"Crepas, get him out of here and take him to the infirmary," the king said.

"Yes, sir!"

"And you two," he said to his personal bodyguards. "Take the traitor to his cell."

Running on adrenaline, Kirra cried, _"No,"_ and forced herself to her knees. She shuffled to Benjamin, expecting any second for the king or one of his guards to drag her back, but she made it to his side without hindrance. They would not separate her from him. If she allowed it, she felt sure one of them would die and she couldn't let that happen.

She covered him with her own body as well as her bound arms would allow, and with her eyes, she told the guards they would get more of what Upis received if they came any closer. "Leave him alone."

One of the guards made a move. Kirra snarled, but it was Nikolos who prevented his further movement. "No no no," he said. "Take your stations."

They nodded in unison and double-timed it back toward the throne. Nikolos, however, remained. He knelt before her and dug something out from beneath the sleeve of his armor. Kirra expected a small dagger or some other kind of weapon, but he offered a cloth.

"To wipe Upis's blood off your mouth."

She eyed it, but she wouldn't give him the satisfaction of touching her. Instead, she wiped her lips on the shoulder of Benjamin's robes, leaving a red stain. The sight of it made her queasy and brought the taste of blood into her mouth. Sickened, she spat it to the ground. For the first time since she began to climb the stairs to the king's chambers, Kirra felt unsure of herself.

"I take it you have a certain…how should I say it… _affinity_ for my traitor."

"He's my friend."

"Oh, more than friends to hear the tale." There was a comical smile on his face, but it dropped to a sneer quicker than the slice of an blade. "And I also hear it was the two of you who helped Hercules defeat my Megalith."

"Hercules is my friend, too. If there's one thing I don't abide, it's others trying to hurt those I care about."

" _You_ don't abide?"

"You heard me."

His smile returned and with it a healthy dose of laughter. "You've got some spunk in you, girl. I'll give you that! You alone will send Hercules running to my clutches. I don't even need your friend…but I wonder how well your spunk will remain when you watch as I disembowel him."

She didn't have to wonder which friend he meant. His eyes on Benjamin's still form told her.

"If there's one thing _I_ do not abide," he said, mocking her. "It's a traitor."

"No, that's not it. You're afraid."

"What did you say to me?"

"It's simple. Why didn't I see if before? You're afraid." Kirra shook her head, and stifled a laugh. "That's why you've built these walls, why you send soldiers out to subdue simple farmers, why you preyed upon the grief of an old man so he'd build weapons for you. You're afraid of failure; afraid someone will see you as the weak and pitiable man you really are."

She flinched at the raising of his arm and steeled herself for the blow, but it didn't come. When she opened her eyes, a fully conscious Benjamin had a white-knuckled grip on the king's arm. The guards, thinking him incapacitated, had not bound him and now there was a ferocity in his eyes she had not seen the like of before. It left Nikolos himself unnerved.

"If you touch her, I'll kill you and save Hercules the trouble."

Nikolos pulled his arm from Benjamin's grasp and rose to his full height. "You're brave, boy," he said. "But not brave enough. Guards!"

Kirra knew they had no chance of fighting them off, but she pulled her body over Benjamin's anyway. In the shadow of the guards, she screamed, "I won't let you hurt him."

"You have no choice in the matter, girl. He'll get what he deserves and I'll use you to help me bring Hercules to his end."

One of the guards grabbed her by the upper arms, pulled her off of Benjamin and tossed her to the side while the other approached him with a spear. He was quick to slap the blunt end of the blade away and crouch into a fighting stance, but the voice of Nikolos stilled him.

"Nah-ah-ah." Beneath his armored boot was Kirra's neck. "All it would take is a little pressure…"

Benjamin relented and the guards moved in to subdue him. His eyes were on Kirra as they bound him, but they ultimately gravitated to Nikolos. "If Hercules doesn't kill you, I will."

Nikolos laughed loud and boisterous, his voice seeming to fill the air. "Good one, boy. But you underestimate the half-god's power. He'll be nothing against my new Megalith."

"No, you underestimate _me_."

"Take him to a cell! Show him what happens to those who betray me."

"No," Kirra pleaded, calling after Benjamin as the guards dragged him away.

"Don't worry about me," he said over his shoulder. "I'll come back for you."

Kirra felt her bravado fading. The soldiers led Benjamin away to suffer only the gods knew what, leaving her alone with this monster. How long before Hercules came? He would. It was what Nikolos was counting on. Kirra only worried that he would arrive too late. She wasn't afraid for herself. She had a long time before her thread of life ran out. Her fear was for Benjamin.

Kirra sat up when he released the pressure on her neck. "Please," she begged Nikolos once the doors to his chambers had closed. "I'll do anything. Just please don't hurt him."

"Anything?" Eyebrows raised, Nikolos pinched his chin in thought. "Well, I'll have to think about this."

"Anything that _doesn't_ involve killing Hercules."

Nikolos laughed. "Oh, trust me. Everything involves killing Hercules. What matters is whether _you_ make it out alive. I might be willing to overlook your…for now, let's call it an indiscretion…but only if you help me. If you help me get my revenge, I promise, you will live a life of ease here in Chalcis. Right here on the hilltop. And I'll spare you having to witness the death of Hercules. What do you say?"

"What about Benjamin?"

Nikolos knelt before her and touched his fingertips to her chin. "That'll take a bit more coaxing."

Kirra pulled her chin away from his touch. "And if I don't help you?"

"If you don't, you'll watch him get what he deserves for turning against me," he said, pointing at the door Benjamin had exited. "Believe me when I tell you, I will tear him limb from limb. And before I do the same to you in front of a crowd of onlookers, _you will_ witness the death of Hercules. _That_ is a promise you can count on."

Kirra had known from the second Upis and his lackey caught them, there would be no easy way out of this, if there were one at all. She had to make a decision. If she told Nikolos where to stick his deal, she would seal the doom of not only herself, but of Benjamin, Katrina and Hercules, as well. And Daedalus would suffer in servitude to the king for the rest of his days. There was always a slim chance they could make it out with the son of Zeus at their side, but someone would have to suffer the fate of the sacrificial lamb. In her heart, Kirra knew it would be Benjamin.

Hercules had watched the murder of someone he loved and endured it. She didn't know if she could do the same.

"Well?" Nikolos prodded.

Kirra raised her head. A slim chance was better than none. "I'd rather die."

"Then die you shall."

* * *

 **Hercules saying, "There's another one of those things?" in the original episode always cracked me up, so I kept it for the rewrite.**

 **Chapter 15 - In the original episode, Hercules begged Daedalus and Katrina to stay behind while he faced Nikolos alone. In this chapter, Hercules makes a different decision. While Benjamin plans an escape, Hercules stages a daring rescue.**


	15. Chapter 15

_**Kirra's Journey**_

 **Episode 3 – Outsider Looking In**

* * *

 _Chapter 15_

In another couple of hours, the sun would be up. For now, outside continued as dark as Hercules's thoughts. He wanted to take his rage out on anything in his sight, but Daedalus probably wouldn't appreciate it if he tore his home apart merely to alleviate stress. Consequently, he kept to his seat while Katrina and Daedalus did the worried pacing for him. There was nothing they could do until dawn.

Daedalus was the worst of the two. He had heaped guilt like hot coals on top of his head. Burning his hands had not been enough. "If it weren't for _my_ shortcomings, none of this would be happening right now. That poor girl would be safe in her home, not caught in Nikolos's clutches."

"Don't blame yourself, Daedalus," Katrina said before Hercules could say anything. "King Baldy has a little something to do with this. _He_ manipulated you. _He_ made you forget who you really are. Its revenge he's seeking on Hercules. This has nothing to do with you."

"I know, I know. But, I invented that horrible weapon. He's going to use Kirra and the boy to lure Hercules to a showdown."

Hercules wished he had it in himself to assuage Daedalus's fears, but he couldn't do so until he assuaged his own. He did not doubt there would be a showdown. Nikolos had salvaged the second Megalith, and if he kept to his current level of showmanship, it would become a spectator's sport as it had been the afternoon before. The only question was when and how.

He wasn't afraid of the Megalith. It was a man in a machine, same as the other one. Control the man and you control the machine. But there was one big wrinkle—Kirra and Benjamin. With the two of them caught in the middle, the fight would not be as simple. Nikolos was thorough as well as demented. He would use the two against him to the full.

Try though she might, Katrina could not calm Daedalus. A wretched guilt hung over him like a cloud. "What are we going to do?"

Hercules had already asked himself the same question millions of times, but instead of pacing and working up a healthy dose of his own guilt into the atmosphere, he twirled the point of Perdix's blade into the corner of a worktable and thought. He would only come out victorious if he had a game plan. He needed something Nikolos wouldn't see coming, something Nikolos wouldn't expect of him, but it couldn't be obvious. Nikolos would smell a ruse a mile away. This would have to be subtle…

…as subtle as Perdix quietly, but busily trying to free his hands.

It came to him. Hercules got to his feet, pulling the knife from the end of the worktable, and walked toward Perdix with purpose. They all saw him, particularly Perdix who had stopped struggling to stare at his approach with wide eyes.

"Hercules, what are you doing?" Katrina asked.

Hercules went straight to Perdix, knelt and placed the tip of the blade upon the man's protruding Adam's apple. The two bound soldiers on the floor beside him mumbled and struggled in fear. _Good,_ Hercules thought. _They need to fear._

"Don't do it, Hercules," Daedalus said from behind, and Falafel followed up with, "Please."

Hercules ignored him, his attention solely on Perdix. "I could kill you, Perdix. You know I can, and I wouldn't need a knife to do it. You wouldn't be the first man I've killed and you probably won't be the last."

A trickle of sweat fell from the hawk-faced man's brow, his breathing stilted. Hercules had hit a nerve. Only then did he remove the blade. The trio behind him gave audible sighs, as did his captives before him.

"But I'm not like Nikolos. I'm not a killer. Don't kid yourself, Perdix. You're no more important to him than I am. Sooner or later, as long as you're with him, you'll die at his hands."

A frown of disbelief formed on the man's brow, as Hercules thought it might. He stepped behind the chair and severed the bonds Perdix had been eager to free himself of. Nikolos's second in command analyzed the severed cord, astonished at his freedom and Hercules's role in it, but he didn't think as long on it as Hercules might have liked. Perdix was quick to free himself of the remainder of his bonds.

"Hercules," Falafel said rather carefully. "Are you sure this is a good idea?"

Hercules answered by severing the bonds of the soldiers and helping them to their feet. The three, minus their weapons, stood opposite of the four within the small confines of the home. Silence ensued while Perdix straightened his statesman's robes.

"Why?" he asked.

"So you can send Nikolos a message."

Perdix inclined his ear.

"Tell him I'll be coming, _alone and_ _when I'm ready_ , not before." A few grunts of disapproval sounded behind him. "Nikolos will have his showdown but he's not to touch the people in this home until it's over. Do I have your word on that?"

Perdix nodded, albeit hesitantly.

Hercules took one step forward, the sincerity in his expression as hard as rock. "And tell him this for me: no matter how powerful his weapon might be, if he's harmed one hair on Kirra's head, it will not go down in his favor. I will make him pay. Now go."

Perdix held out his hand. "Can I have my knife back?"

Hercules smirked and pointed at the backdoor. Perdix frowned. He and his men left the way they came. Once the sound of their footfalls had faded into the forest, his three companions pounced on him.

"Alone?" Katrina said. "You can't go alone! Hercules, if the weapon wasn't destroyed—"

Daedalus cut her off. "This is _my_ responsibility, Hercules. I created that thing. I should go with you!"

Next to them was Falafel, an ingratiatory smile hiding his anxiety. "I am perfectly happy with staying behind. I can have dinner ready when you return!"

Hercules nodded at the three of them. "Each of you said exactly what I expected you to say, but you're only half right."

"How's that?" Daedalus asked, suspicious.

"I can't do this on my own. I thought I could, but the odds are stacked against me. I am going to need your help." He said this to Katrina and Daedalus, who were smiling and ready for battle, but Hercules turned his attention to Falafel. " _All_ of you."

Falafel's smile dropped. "Oh, no Hercules. I'm just a simple cook."

"Exactly."

* * *

Thick and viscous was the dark puddle forming beneath him, sliding between fissures in the mortar and into imperfections in the stone floor. It wasn't merely his life's blood, but a representation of life itself and how it had slipped through his fingers like oil the last several years.

As a teen, Benjamin had big plans and none of them had involved joining the military. He wanted a simple life, a wife, children. One obstacle had stood in his path and his name was Hiram. The night before his father had packed them up and moved them out of Endor for good, Benjamin had formulated a plan which would free Kirra and her mother from the slob's tyranny. His mother called it belladonna, but the local herbalist in town had another name for it—nightshade. Benjamin always had a curiosity about the natural world and the herbalist had humored his questions on many occasions.

"In very, very small doses, it can be used to relieve pain," the herbalist once told him. "But…" And he emphasized the word with one boney, crooked finger. "A single leaf could kill a man faster than a bite from a poisonous snake and be every bit as painful."

Benjamin had never forgotten it. He knew the plant, knew where to find it; had helped the herbalist forage for it and others numerous times (and made a few dinars on the side). One leaf was a sufficient dosage to accomplish the job, but he had taken two. He would mash them up using his own version of mortar and pestle—two rocks, one with a deep, curved indention he could use as a bowl—and turn the two leaves into paste with a little olive oil. His plan was to wait until after dark when his parents had gone to sleep, slip out the window of his bedroom and quietly make his way to the woods behind Kirra's house. There, he would wait for the abnormal events that unfolded each night within their household to pass. When he was sure Hiram had blacked out from too much ale, he would sneak in and ladle the miniscule helping of nightshade into his fat, open mouth. Hiram would swallow the stuff on mere instinct, suffer its painful effects for a few hours and then Kirra and her mother would be free. No one would ever expect a thing.

But, the next day, he and his parents left Endor, his father leading him to believe they were going on a trip to visit distant relatives and that they would be back in a couple of weeks. Benjamin had decided it could wait a little longer. There had been no need to rush it. Better to plan, to stalk their residence a couple of nights before he made his move. Then, when he did, it would happen flawlessly. Instead, he had to stop himself from planning the same for his father when he found out they weren't going back. He'd hated him every day since.

Now, because of his father's decision and his own foolhardy teenaged reasoning, Benjamin had to watch blood poor from his mouth and nose, instead of living the life he'd dreamed as a youngster. His blood pooled on the stone floor beneath his hanging head. The two guards had beaten him as they beat his father that horrible day. He took their blows to his face and his abdomen; he withstood their snide remarks, their slurs and accusations of treachery. He was a traitor, but he was also loyal. He would not abandon Kirra to whatever fate Nikolos had planned. He was too close to seeing his dreams realized to give up now.

Bent over his puddling blood, Benjamin held himself up with weakened arms. The guards had departed minutes before. He was alone in the cell room. The king did not keep dungeons. A room on a lower level with cages was satisfactory for Nikolos, because he didn't suffer prisoners for long. He dealt with them swiftly.

 _Not today._

Benjamin forced himself upright and the room spun. He swayed, caught hold of an iron bar to steady himself and waited for the room to settle. All was quiet within the cell. One man stood guard outside the locked door. Wiping his bloodied nose upon his sleeve, Benjamin rested his back against the iron bars and removed the scrap of torn blanket he and Kirra had fashioned as a sash from around his waist. Beneath his robes, he wore his under armor garments. They were black and a couple of stitches away from skin tight, but they hid that which would get him out of here—a key.

He had stolen one months ago, when rumors had begun to spread about camp that he had become disloyal to the king. Too many late nights venting to fellow soldiers he once considered friends about the king's heartless bullying of nearby villagers, and he'd learned quick to keep his mouth shut. He took the key when on guard duty one night and sewn it into the lining of his top undergarment. He remembered hearing the rumors of a missing cell key, but none of his fellow soldiers had found the guts to tell their commanding officer, who in turn would have informed Nikolos.

Benjamin slid the key into the lock and turned it. Getting to his feet, he called for the guard, a young man he knew well. He was a cadet. They were friends. He would be easy to take down.

* * *

Removing the heavy pack from his back, Falafel set it aside and got down on his knees inside the edge of the forest. The sun was beginning to creep over the horizon, but it was still dark. The overcast skies above had thickened since the fall of night. A storm was approaching. When, he could not know, but he could smell rain as well as he could smell pork frying in a hot pan.

Falafel clasped his hands and cast his gaze heavenward. "Oh…" He frowned. "Who do I call out to? Ah yes! Oh Hestia, goddess of the hearth. No, this isn't a cooking question. I don't know if you can help me or not, but your relative has me involved in something entirely too dangerous for a simple cook like myself. If you could send someone, _anyone_ , to take my place, I … I promise to pay Salmoneus back for the taco franchise. Okay? Thank you."

Returning to his feet, Falafel hefted the heavy pack of whatever concoction the inventor had cooked up (and he had to admit, it had been pretty interesting watching him mix it together with such precision and skill as to make a cook proud), he got back onto the road. It was surprisingly free of guards after the events of the night before. He hoped it stayed that way.

Reaching the city center as the muted light of day dispelled the night, Falafel found salesmen and cooks like himself setting up shop. City watchmen were beginning the morning ritual of dousing torches. For so early in the morning, it surprised him to see the activity. People had already begun to fill the marketplace and palace guards strode the streets like rodents in a dark alley.

"Uh, excuse me," he said to a man sweeping the front of his shop free of dirt and road debris.

"Yes?"

Falafel nearly sighed. Hercules's so-called disguise had worked. No one suspected he was Falafel, the cook. The fake beard gone, a bit of spiffing by the scribe with a wet cloth (who would have thought that could work, huh?) and Falafel looked like a new man. If anyone were to ask him his name, he was to call himself Kebab.

"Is there something happening this morning I should know about?" he asked the shop owner.

The man frowned and looked about surreptitiously at the passing guards. "Yes. King Nikolos has a public execution planned. The weird ones always come out for the executions."

"Who?"

"Don't know. Supposedly a couple of traitors, but if you ask me, this has something to do with Hercules. I must have heard his name said a dozen times already and it's barely dawn. This is going to be one heck of a day."

"Don't I know it."

"Nice talking to you."

"You too."

Falafel wondered off. Hercules told him to find a spot which would offer him the best advantage, but he wouldn't know where the spot might be until the show started. In the meantime, he was told to "act casual."

"Act casual," he said under his breath. "Sure. Fine. Okay. I'm wearing daylight on my back and you want me to act casual."

He secured a temporary spot and set up shop … for the time being.

* * *

His back against the wall, Benjamin peered around the corner. The corridor to the king's chambers was empty. Having left the robes behind in the cell with the cadet who had once been his friend, he was now in black from head to foot. It helped him hide in the darker passages as soldiers passed. Ducking inside of unused guest bedrooms afforded him the ability to hide in better-lit passageways.

He had made it undetected as far as the king's chambers, and so far, no one had raised the alarm about a missing prisoner. The sun was rising. Nikolos liked to do his killing at dawn. Benjamin needed to hurry.

He took the corridor without making a sound.

When he'd delivered the scribe to the king, he'd done so as a good soldier, announcing his presence and stating his business. Not in this instance. Unarmed and unprotected, he stormed in, ready to meet whatever fate he must to protect the woman he loved. Knowing he was going back for Kirra, believing he would find her here sustained him. Finding the king's chambers as empty as the corridor outside brought down upon him every blow the soldiers had delivered at once. Benjamin fell to one knee.

"Kirra!"

He cared not that he might be heard for miles away. He marched forward into the room, searching every corner, behind every war banner, but the room was empty and as quiet as a tomb.

As he was turning to leave, his eyes caught a gleam of iron lying against the throne. It was the king's sword. He went to it. The hilt of it slipped into his palm like silk and its iron blade shown like diamonds, flitting torchlight across his battered yet awestruck features. He touched the blade with the pad of his thumb and it came away red. Surely, his blood was not the first it had tasted, and if he had his way, his wouldn't be the last.

A creaking door alerted him to another's presence. Benjamin ducked behind the throne as fast as his injuries would allow. Quick movements were not as easy or as painless as they had been several hours ago. He bit his tongue to fight off a wave of nausea and clear his head.

"Your Majesty?"

Benjamin knew the voice. It was Perdix. What was he doing here? Had the half-god witlessly let him go?

His footsteps neared the throne and Benjamin tightened his grip on the hilt of the sword. If he had to, he'd finish what he started in the inventor's home, but he'd have to finish him quick. He couldn't allow his screams to raise the alarm.

Perdix appeared at Benjamin's right, but at the last second, Benjamin held fast. He watched the obedient little servant, instead.

"Your majesty? Hercules is coming!"

 _Your majesty isn't here, idiot,_ Benjamin thought. But his sword was. He waited for him to take one step toward the throne. When he did, Benjamin would bury it in his belly and leave him for the king to find. He was desperate to take his rage and frustration at not finding Kirra out on someone (he had promised he would come back for her, _promised_ ). Perdix was the perfect candidate. Benjamin had always despised him. He was, in Benjamin's mind, a mere scullery maid to the king—taking his orders and doing his bidding—and yet with the authority to command soldiers. He wasn't fit to scrub their boots. Second to Nikolos, if anyone deserved a sword to the gut, it was that coward.

Perdix did not step toward the throne, however. He disappeared behind a partition and called out for Nikolos yet again. Benjamin gripped the sword's hilt, took the belt and scabbard he'd seen hanging from the arm of the throne and followed Perdix. It was not curiosity alone which drew him behind the partition. The king had Kirra. If anyone could lead him to the king, it was his second in command.

On the other side, Benjamin did not find Perdix, but he did find a bedchamber, one not as elaborate as he might have imagined for King Nikolos. The man spent his days plotting and scheming. Little of it must he have spent here in sleep, or deciding his wardrobe for the day. Where could the king's prick have gone? Under the bed? Behind the door? Benjamin found him in none of the typical hiding places. Unless he wasn't hiding. Could there be another way out of the bedchamber, a secret passage?

An armoire stood partially open against the wall. Benjamin used the edge of the sword to pry the doors open. It held little in the way of clothing. Undergarments mostly, sleeping gowns, but in one corner, stuck far to the back were a set of black robes perhaps used for state dinners with the royals. Undoubtedly not used for diplomacy's sake.

Benjamin pulled it from the armoire. The robe had a useless set of bling on leather lapels. He ripped them from the garment, threw them to the floor and donned it. Nikolos was a big man, but Benjamin was tall and broad-shouldered. The robe fit him as though it had been made for him. Two weeks ago, he would not have dreamed of doing such a thing. He was a soldier of Euboea and he had his place. All that changed the day he saw Kirra standing across the street from him. Today, he was the king and he would have what was rightfully his.

With the robe on, everything became clearer. He felt more confident, more himself than he had felt in years, and that's when he saw a crack in the wall behind the armoire. Using his sword, he found it slipped through quite easily. A secret passage it was. Slipping his fingers through the crack, he pulled the armoire away from the wall, revealing a curved stone stairwell. Where it went, Benjamin did not know, but he was sure Perdix would lead him where he wanted to go.

Using the robe's hood to obscure his battered face, Benjamin remembered Kirra and cinched the belt at his waist. He had a war to wage.

* * *

The sun had risen by the time Katrina made it into town. There was already talk floating about town by the curious and ravenous alike of an execution. People were flowing in one general direction—toward the center of town where Perdix tried to make waffles out of Hercules the afternoon before. Is this where the king normally staged his gregarious acts of violence?

Soldiers were everywhere. Some of them she recognized from her quick stent inside the palace with Benjamin, but thankfully, none of them were Upis. He would know her face on sight. Hercules's idea of wearing Kirra's cloak had been a good one. It shielded her from familiar faces.

She stopped at the corner, the marketplace before her. People the city over had gathered here. Tales of yesterday's exciting events had drawn them for the second showdown, but far sinister happenings would take place on this dreary morning. On the far side of the marketplace stood the gallows. One noose hung from its wooden frame. Katrina's heart sank.

"By the gods."

There was no sign of the king or his contraption he called the Megalith. _You'd think he would have come up with a better name for the second one?_ she thought. Nor did she see any sign of Kirra or Benjamin. She kept moving, weaving in and out of the gathering crowds, looking, searching for the one face she actually had to find.

With an anxious sigh, she finally found him on the other side of the market. His eyes caught hers through the throngs as she neared his booth, but he quickly looked away. On this morning, they did not know each other. Katrina made her way to him without drawing attention to herself, pretending to peruse vendor booths in curiosity. His booth was one of the closest to the gallows. He had a clear view of it and the parapet she had stood upon with Nikolos the day before. Beyond was the winding road leading to the hilltop and the king's palace. This had to be the spot.

Keeping to the plan, Katrina bumped into him from behind. "Oh, excuse me," she said. "I'm sorry."

"Not to worry, ma'am," Falafel said, slipping the dagger to her undercover of the cloak. "It happens."

"So I hear," she said under her breath. Then, she smiled and continued with the plan. "I hear there's going to be a lot of excitement in town. Is it taking place right here?"

"Yes, ma'am. Right here." Falafel pointed to the ground at his feet as the plan dictated. "I don't intend to move one inch from this spot. This is prime property right here."

"I get it," she said. "You've got _the_ spot, don't you?"

"Absolutely. Anybody looking for _this_ spot will find it _easy._ "

 _You're overdoing it a bit, cooking man,_ she thought, keeping the grin plastered to her face like her last mud mask. The cook had a blatantly obvious case of the nerves and he was forgetting the most important part!

"Running any specials today?" she prodded.

"Oh! Of course, of course!" He walked to the edge of his booth and patted a bright terra cotta colored earthenware vessel which one could easily see from a distance. "Euboean brandy. Bottled especially for today. Would you like some?"

"Would I?"

From the vessel, Falafel poured a gelatinous substance into a wooden bowl from which Katrina pretended to drink and expound upon its earthy tones. In actuality, it smelled like rotten eggs. Katrina thanked him for the drink, paid him her dinars and went on her way. As she walked around the marketplace, she began to trickle upon the ground the oh-so-flavorful "Euboean brandy" in key areas.

She had made a complete circle and neared the end of her bowl when she looked up to see Daedalus standing at the open entrance to the marketplace. His presence was their agreed upon signal, Hercules's way of signifying the show was about to begin. In him, Katrina saw uncertainty, but she also saw fortitude. It was a sight she would remember for the rest of her life. He had been an angry, bitter old man who grieved the death of his only child and the only life he ever knew. The king had taken advantage of his misfortune, twisted Daedalus into a man who was not too different from the king himself, a man bent upon revenge. Only, Daedalus's revenge was upon life itself. With Hercules's help, he was on the road to conquering his guilt. Stopping Nikolos from turning them into ground beef was a part of it. His bravery would be what colored the story she would write, a story of a man who faced his own worst creation and lived to tell about it … she hoped.

Daedalus was looking past her, past the parapet and into the distance of the hillside to the north when Katrina felt the ground begin to shake beneath her feet. His eyes met hers across the crowds and she knew without having to guess what was coming. Voices raised in fear, others in excitement. The showdown was about to start, and as though the gods above had joined in on the festivities, lightning flashed and thunder crackled from the clouds above.

Katrina turned. Black, ominous clouds had framed the hilltop, and streaks of lightning were emanating as though from the hill itself. This was but a backdrop to a far more ominous sight—the second Megalith coming into the marketplace. She recognized the parts of it she had seen sitting in the laboratory; the spiked and spinning mace upon one massive arm, the head resembling the face of a beast and upon it, the giant crystal she and Kirra had seen from the window. Katrina couldn't tell from her vantage point, but by the earth-shaking stride, the man controlling the monster this time was Nikolos himself.

She prayed to the gods of her people to have the bravery of Daedalus and for the fortitude to accomplish the job Hercules had given her to do. One of them she had completed, the other came rolling behind the Megalith—a ballista, much like the one Kirra had described encountering at the outset of their journey. But there was something different about this one. Denuded from its framework were any accoutrements of war. It carried no giant crossbow, nor any arrows which would fit within a triggering mechanism. From its center protruded a wooden stake and tied to it, like a sacrificial goat upon the alter, was Kirra.

Katrina's knees begged to give way at the sight, knowing the task ahead of her. This was not the same fear when staring at blank parchment, when the words she wanted to flow from her quill would not come at all, but she met it with the same resolve. She built a mental wall around her fear, an embattlement against the negativity telling her that what she was about to do was going to get her killed. She wouldn't fall to it.

Gripping the hilt of the dagger at her waist, Katrina disappeared into the crowd.

* * *

 **In Chapter 16, the showdown begins. The shadow of death will linger on everyone, but one character will meet their end.**


	16. Chapter 16

_**Kirra's Journey**_

 **Episode 3 – Outsider Looking In**

* * *

 _Chapter 16_

The world was in a vacuum, no sound. Lightning flashed within the dark grey clouds above and the earth shuddered beneath, though not from the rumble of lightning's other half. This was the rumble of heavy wheels rolled over uneven ground. She shut them out, as she had shut out all other senses. The sensation of feet and wiggling toes were gone and her tingling hands were going numb. It wouldn't be much longer before she couldn't feel them at all. Her senses were fading like the light at dusk and she let her thoughts go with them.

Her vision, the one thing she held onto, watched the clouds above as they roiled and twisted, an inverted version of the witch's cauldron. She willed herself to sink into its beauty, to feel surrounded by the thickness of the clouds like soft puffs of cotton. If she ascended there, what would she find? Would stars dwell on the other side? Or would there be only darkness?

Kirra wished for both and yet dreaded either. She didn't want to die. The woman in white said she had a destiny. Where had she and her promise gone? Nothing seemed real anymore.

"You'll roast like a pig, and Hercules will watch."

A memory of the last village celebration she'd attended with her mother came to mind. A local farmer had brought one of his finest head of swine, the largest of his herd. She hadn't been present for its slaughtering, but she remembered watching it roast, watching its skin blacken and split over the heat of the fire.

Kirra refused to imagine such a thing happening to her, though the stench of oil drenched into the wood of the stripped-down ballista filled her nostrils and threatened to send her over the edge. It was in her hair now and soaking into the back of her dress. She watched the clouds, watched them writhe and coil with the tremendous force of the air in the upper atmosphere. The coolness of it swept across her brow. It's how she knew she was sweating, knew there were tears rolling down her cheeks, but she wouldn't give Nikolos what he wanted. He, like Hiram, had wanted to hear her scream, to beg for mercy.

"Fine," he had said when she wouldn't brandish her terror for him like a flag. "Before the morning is out, when every pretty curl on your head is in flames and your dress lights you up like a candle, you'll scream, and you'll beg for death."

He'd laughed then, comically maniacal like a twirly mustached villain in a dreadful tale. Kirra would not scream for him then and she wouldn't scream for him now. She kept her eyes above, on the clouds and her mind on what might be up there beyond them. She didn't think about Hercules or Benjamin. She didn't wonder where they were or how they might react when they saw her go up in flames. She thought about the flickering of the stars and she thought about her father. For the first time, she could remember his face and his head of curls like her own. Wherever the flames took her, to the stars or beyond, Kirra would see him again. This she knew with a certainty more real than the clouds above.

And she smiled…

* * *

The blade glimmered in the yellow-orange light. Benjamin stared down the length of it, right into the eye of Perdix. He had its pointed edge resting quite comfortably beneath his eyeball. The blue orb bulged from its socket, both from the pressure of the blade and from Perdix's fear. Benjamin had him right where he wanted him. The idiot wouldn't budge. There was no running or fighting back when a blade was poised to plunge into your brain from your eye socket.

He had followed Perdix down the winding stone staircase and now found himself in an open chamber bespeckled with torchlight. He knew the place. According to Upis, the room had once been used as a place of celebration for the royals. They had held their balls and dances here, but when Nikolos took over the color of life bled from Chalcis. The king had once used it as a war room, but now he utilized the space for storage—old furniture, defunct inventions of Daedalus, battered armor and weapons. The king must have salvaged the parts of the last Megalith here, otherwise why would Perdix have come to look for him. Had Benjamin known there was a secret passageway to the king's chamber from here he might have ended things long ago, for Nikolos and for Perdix.

"Where is she?" he asked a terrified Perdix, who shook like a leaf in a windstorm. Tiny rivers of sweat poured from his brow. The last time Benjamin had seen a man so terrified he called him father. It made him despise Perdix all the more. Yet, there was something thrilling in his fear.

Perdix struggled to answer the question as if talking might plunge the blade of the sword forward. "I—I don't—"

" _Where is she?!"_

"I don't know!"

"You're a liar."

"No, no, I swear!"

Yes, he was a liar and Perdix was well aware of it, but it was either die at the traitor's hands or die at the hands of Nikolos who would see him as a traitor if he told what he knew. Yet, Nikolos wasn't the one holding the blade of a sword to his eye. The sour-faced boy he used to know, who had kept a quiet and unassuming guard over the inventor's lab, had become as tortured as Nikolos.

"Don't be afraid," the boy said and pressed the blade another inch into his commander's eye socket, applying a painful pressure. "I'm not going to kill you. I'll just gouge out both your eyes if you don't tell me where Nikolos has taken her."

Warmth spread down the statesman's legs as if someone had opened up his abdomen. It wasn't blood. This was worse than death. "To the marketplace. He's going to use her to lure Hercules and then…"

" _What?"_ he demanded through clenched teeth.

"His plan was to hang you in the gallows for treason and … and to make Hercules watch her bur-burn at the stake."

Perdix expected the blade to sink in, for his last sight to be a vision of hatred, nostrils flared and eyes burning. Instead, the boy blanched and every vestige of rage fell from his face like a mask. Perdix saw what he did not think to see in the boy's face—fear.

He waited what seemed an interminable amount of seconds before the boy, whose name Perdix did not even know, lowered the sword. He backed away, lost, as if he had already told him of her death. For all he knew, the girl was still alive. But for how long? That was anyone's guess.

"The king hasn't been gone for long," Perdix said, hoping to buy himself some time. "If you leave now, you might make it in ti—"

It happened fast. The words froze on his tongue. Perdix had thought the boy defeated, but he had mistakenly let his guard down. Benjamin brought the force of the king's blade as far as he could into the man's chest, and into the stone and mortar wall behind him, metal clanging, ringing off the walls. The sight of it was as surprising to Benjamin as it was to Perdix. Something white-hot had burst from within him. He'd been powerless to control it. In the aftermath, watching the surprise and the life drain from Perdix's eyes, Benjamin could feel nothing, no anger, no rage, no deep and profound sadness at having taken a life. Only a sense of euphoria, as if the life of Perdix had flowed from the sword and into his hand. The feeling was unquestionably evil and Benjamin pulled the blade from the man's chest as quickly as he'd buried it there.

He watched Perdix fall and the sword fell along with him. He wanted nothing to do with it or its coating of blood. Horrified, his true mission momentarily forgotten, Benjamin bolted from the room.

* * *

Perched high above, Hercules waited for events to unfold. He had already been in place when Katrina entered the marketplace. He watched as she made her way to Falafel. The earthenware vessel stood out like a bullseye, ready for him to make his move, while Katrina poured its contents around the perimeter of the marketplace. One shot was all it would take to trap Nikolos within a ring of flame. It wasn't his plan to harm any civilian, and he was certain once Nikolos appeared the people would fan out to the courtyard's distant corners, afraid for their safety but eager to watch the show.

So far, things were going exactly to plan. Upon the sound of Nikolos's thunderous approach, outdone only by the crack of lightening itself, the people backed far away behind vendor's booths and away from a circle of guards who had taken up key positions (likely to keep Hercules in the game in case he tried to run away; _fat chance,_ he thought).

Hercules waited for his moment from the roof of a tall building (not _the_ tallest; he didn't want to stand out), crouched behind a waist-high wall. At his side was a crossbow taken from a willing, but unconscious sentry posted at the city center's entrance. The arrows Hercules wrapped in the fabric of a weather-beaten awning. It would take to fire like a fish to water.

Below him, the silver head of Daedalus appeared at the entrance to the marketplace. Hercules had the first arrow loaded and cocked into the crossbow, and was prepared to fire his first shot at the earthenware vessel filled with Daedalus's concoction.

Above the thunder and the awe of the crowd, the creaking of wagon wheels drew his eyes away from his target. What he saw brought a memory of the past back into his consciousness he had not wanted to see again.

Deianeira. Aeson. Klonus. Ilea. How many times had he gone home late in the night to find each of them sleeping peacefully in their beds, safe in their dreams? The night they died, he had anticipated no other outcome. He'd spent the earlier half brawling with Iolaus at a local tavern. He had stayed out much later than he should have, but he and Iolaus hadn't seen each other in a while and Deianeira hadn't minded the time he spent with his friend. Looking back, he wished he had stayed home. It never occurred to him that the last time he would ever see his wife and children would be as they went up in a ball of flame, their sweet bodies rendered in seconds to ash. He had no time to grieve. He couldn't even remember shedding a tear the night they died. He'd been too full of rage and revenge to grieve. The grieving came much later.

Seeing Kirra strapped to the wagon likely doused in oil and ready to set aflame, was like reliving that night again. One torch, one lick of flame. He would not get to her in time.

Hercules dropped the crossbow. He had no choice. The wagon had settled across the very line Katrina had drawn in the dirt. If he shot the flaming arrow, he'd set the wagon aflame and this time, his loved one would not experience a quick death by Hera's fireball. She would burn to death right before his eyes.

"Zeus," he said under his breath, his eyes heavenward. "If you let this happen a second time, I swear by your life and the life of every one of your children, I will hunt you down."

There was no time. Hercules abandoned the crossbow. He had to do whatever he could to distract Nikolos from his plan.

* * *

Daedalus steeled himself to do as Hercules had asked—to walk toward the Megalith, staying outside the ring Katrina spilled into the dirt, to draw Nikolos forward. But, seeing the poor girl prepared for execution made him take a step backward. In all his years, he had not seen a sight such as this. Heard of it, yes, but seen it? Not in Crete or any of his travels throughout Greece. He had known Nikolos was not a good man, but he hadn't thought him capable of this. She was only a girl. She'd not brought harm to anyone.

Daedalus began to understand as the blade of a sword came around from behind and found his throat. Hercules would not ignite the incendiary liquid because of the girl. He would be open to the king's attacks. No matter what Hercules thought, Nikolos would roast him as surely as he would anyone else. Were it not for the sword and a voice at his ear, Daedalus would have run.

"Go, Daedalus. Walk forward. We move to plan beta."

The inventor would have sighed in relief at the sound of Hercules's voice, but there was the matter of the sword at his throat. And he knew nothing of a plan beta.

"Hercules?"

"It's all right. I won't let any harm come to you, but we've got to change the game. Follow my lead."

Hercules moved himself and Daedalus out of the shadow of the marketplace's arched entry and onto this new battleground. He didn't have time to check if Katrina and Falafel had retreated. He had to hope they understood what he was doing and why. He kept his eyes locked upon the Megalith and the man who hid behind its metal faceplate. Daedalus had been right—this one was bigger and it wasn't going to be as easy to take down.

The Megalith thundered forward into the center of the marketplace, its heavy footfalls shaking the ground beneath him.

"Nikolos!"

The man behind the mask had already seen him, but Hercules called him forward anyway.

"Well, well, well, what do we have here?" The Megalith and the acoustics of the surrounding buildings helped to amplify Nikolos's voice. "What are you doing with my inventor?"

Hercules let his gaze drift once to Kirra. Tied to the post anchored in the center of the ballista, she seemed unfazed by her predicament. She was even smiling. What had he done to her?

"Let her go, Nikolos. She has nothing to do with this. You let her go and I'll let him go."

Nikolos laughed, his voice metallic and unfeeling. "How stupid do you think I am?"

Hercules shrugged. "On a scale of one to ten?"

A frown reformed the king's face. "You stopped me once, Hercules, exiled me to Lexos where I suffered a worse fate than the people of Danalos." He raised the spiked and spinning fist in Hercules's direction. "Never again. Now it's your turn to suffer. With my new Megalith, I will set this sweet young thing to burn. By the time I'm finished with her, you won't even recognize her."

"You do and you'll lose the one advantage you have—Daedalus."

"Do you really expect me to believe you'll kill your friend?"

"You know me, Nikolos. If it means saving the lives of hundreds, one man is worth the sacrifice." Hercules poured every ounce of malice he'd ever felt toward Nikolos into his gaze. He pulled the memory of the bodies of children strewn upon the ground in Danalos to the forefront of his mind, of mother's clinging to infants, of fathers lying over the bodies of their dead sons. They were like a fire in his eyes. "And if Kirra dies, I promise you, you won't make it out of Euboea alive."

Nikolos went silent, seemingly weighing his options, and as if some brilliant idea had crossed his mind, his frown turned to a smile and he began to laugh again. Opening the arms of the Megalith wide, he displayed the awesome breadth of Daedalus's creation. Hercules felt small in its shadow.

"Hercules," Daedalus said at his side. "Look."

Daedalus didn't point. He didn't have to. Hercules could see it. One long cylindrical piece of metal, no thicker than a twig, rose from the head of the metal beast.

"What is that?"

"A lightning rod. Without the sun, he has no power."

"This is a bad thing?"

"Lightning will make it ten times more powerful."

"Are you sure?"

"No, we've never tested it."

As the words left his mouth, an ear-shattering crash filled the marketplace. Hit by lightning, the Megalith lit up like a sparkler at festival time. It bent forward with the force of the bolt, sending sparks and smoke everywhere. Hercules thought Nikolos was done for, that the lightning had baked him like a clam in its shell, but with a creak and a groan, the Megalith righted itself, the crystal seated at its crown fairly glowing.

"This would be a good time to run, Hercules."

He heard the fear in Daedalus's voice, but he stood his ground, continuing to hold his friend with the blade of a sword, as well as to hope that Nikolos would know he'd been bested, but his hope faded at Nikolos's laugh.

The Megalith reared back. Beside him, Daedalus cringed and looked away. Nikolos thought himself indestructible behind the Megalith, all-powerful. Hercules would have to teach him different. But for now…

A bolt of bluish-orange flame shot from the barrel of the Megalith's head and with it came a growl of pure pleasure from its wielder. Hercules pushed Daedalus one way and he dropped and rolled in the other. The heat of the flame licked at his boots.

"Where are you going, Hercules?" Nikolos delightfully called from inside the Megalith. "It's time to play."

The Megalith sounded behind him and Hercules ducked past another bolt of flame. He heard screams from the townsfolk. When the flames grew too near them, they started running. Good. Better they clear out than become toast for their king.

"That's right, Hercules. Keep running like a mouse. I'll catch you and I'll cook you like one, too."

Hercules dodged another bolt behind a vendor's booth. If the Megalith's flame reached one spot on the ring, Kirra was dead. He had one job—to keep Nikolos distracted long enough for Katrina to free Kirra. Hercules would do so, no matter if he singed every hair on his head to baldness.

* * *

 **Yes, the chapter went pretty dark, but I had these images in my head that would not go away. I wanted to showcase that Kirra is just an ordinary girl. She has no special powers, and usually has to use her head to get herself out of scrapes, but in this instance, there is too much stacked against her. She doesn't have the strength on her own to fight a man as powerful as Nikolos. Same with Benjamin and Hercules. Despite all of their planning and lacking any other recourse, both men shift to what they know best, and you see that in how they each deal with a stressful situation.**

 **Hope you're liking the story so far. Please leave a comment. I would love to hear from you!**

 **Chapter 17 - While Katrina struggles through the crowd and surrounding guards to get to Kirra, Hercules wages his final battle with King Nikolos.**


	17. Chapter 17

_**Kirra's Journey**_

 **Episode 3 – Outsider Looking In**

* * *

 _Chapter 17_

People ran in all directions, screaming or crying, and the ground shook beneath her feet, which made it difficult to keep one's footing. Katrina was steadying herself near a support column, slowly inching her way toward the stripped down weapon Kirra had been bound to, when all Tartarus broke loose. Unlike the first time, Nikolos's need for revenge was unstoppable. There was no chance to beg for the life of Hercules now. She had a job to do.

Katrina pushed herself away from the column, the ground under her feet as unstable as the sea. Yet, she couldn't let herself wonder what may come of Hercules or Daedalus. Their peril was not a part of the original plan, but it was now. She could do nothing to stop it. Hercules said so, "No matter what happens, stick to the plan. If we let one loss or one setback keep us from what we are there to do, we lose. And we cannot lose." Katrina didn't intend to. The "no matter what happens" scenario had happened, but it didn't mean it was time to pack it up and go home.

Weaving through the panicked crowds (many of whom were likely wishing they had stayed home today), Katrina felt for the dagger at her hip. It was still there. She had been far on the other side of the marketplace when Nikolos had waltzed ( _ha!)_ into town. Seeing Kirra on the ballista had been a shock. The talk amongst the people was of a hanging as well as a gruesome and torturous death for the traitor. She had expected to see Kirra and Benjamin dragged by guards or by horse and led to the gallows, not this. Katrina had her work cut out for her. She was no soldier. She'd had no reason to wield a weapon in her life. She fought her battles with ink and quill. Nevertheless, she would do what she must. Her job was to free Kirra and Benjamin while Hercules kept the Megalith busy, and while Daedalus helped to set the second part of their trap.

Two things had altered their plan: one, there was no Benjamin (which, when she thought about it, was somewhat helpful), and two, the oil soaked ballista bound with the very person Hercules had come for. Fire had always been a part of the plan. Falafel would bring in the inventor's incendiary concoction and place the bright orange vessels in key locations about the marketplace. While Daedalus lured Nikolos towards its center, Hercules would shoot fire-laden arrows into several of the vessels, which would ignite the liquid she'd poured onto the ground and trap Nikolos within a ring of flame. The people would disperse, and while guards were busy trying to put out fires, she would free the two captives. Now, the rules of the game had changed.

Katrina might have to do something she wasn't ready to do.

A man running past nearly knocked her down in his haste. Others looked at her as if she had lost her marbles. They were running for the exits at the south end while she ran to the north, to the ballista, to Kirra. This was probably the most insane thing Katrina had ever done, but the girl staring blissfully up at the threatening skies had to be her main objective. Nothing could get in her way. In her mind's eye, Katrina did not see the ballista. She saw her mother waiting with open arms, waiting for her daughter to come home from a long journey across Sicily so they could spend one last day together. She would be there for her passing, she wouldn't miss her funeral and no one in her home village would think her a horrible daughter.

Katrina ran on clinging to this image, while above her, the dark sky thundered as if to match the rumbling from below, and around her the people screamed. The tremendous sound and fumes of the fire-breathing dragon somewhere behind her filled her ears and nostrils. Ahead were the gallows, standing stately and forgotten. Beyond it, the ballista and a strangely serene Kirra. Katrina wouldn't contemplate why. Now was not the time for thought, only for action.

She skirted the gallows from behind, hand to the scabbard at her side. The way was free and clear, the wagon unguarded. Katrina reached one of its back wheels, placed a sandaled foot upon a wooden spoke and froze when a face she hoped not to see stepped out from the other side of the oil soaked ballista.

Limping toward her was Upis.

 _Oh, good,_ she thought. _He's injured. Maybe this won't be complicated._

Upis brandished a spear from behind him.

 _Okay, scratch that._

"Where do you think you're going, scribe?"

He said her title without any respect, the oaf! Keeping her hands beneath the cover of the cloak, she rested her palm around the handle of the dagger, ready to use it at a moment's notice.

"Where do you think, Stinky? I'm trying to get a good view. This is the story of a lifetime! And it will make me famous."

He poked his spear at her and laughed, showing his yellowed and crooked teeth. Not surprisingly, a few were missing. "Oh, you're gonna be famous, all right." With the end of his spear, Upis released a latch on the end of the ballista and the back gate fell to the ground as a ramp. "Now, up you go."

Katrina almost smiled. This was going to be easier than she thought. She placed one foot onto the ramp and…

"Thief!"

A man, dressed in show-stopping finery, appeared from out of nowhere, a finger pointed in her direction.

"Get out of here!" Upis growled, holding his spear and his eyes on Katrina.

"That's my cloak, sir," the man said. "I made it and someone stole it right off the rack in my shop yesterday. I would know my creation anywhere."

 _Right,_ Katrina thought. This is the cloak she watched Kirra steal the day before. She watched Upis turn to her, his one good eye asking for clarification. Was she a thief? Well, she _was_ hoping to steal his victory.

Katrina gave him a shrug. "You meet so many people in my line of work."

Upis growled and pushed the shop owner out of his way. "We're in the middle of an execution, you fool! I'll deal with you later. Crepas, get over here!"

Katrina didn't know who Crepas was, but she wasn't waiting to find out. Upis had turned his head ever so slightly. She made a move to run, but the spear quickly found its way to her. The tip of it pierced the delicate skin at the base of her throat.

"Don't even think about it, scribe."

She didn't, nor did she think about breathing. One deep breath might drive the tip further in.

"Now get up there and get ready to burn with your little friend."

"No," cried the man. "I want my cloak back. You can't burn my cloak!"

"Shut up! Crepas! Get over here with that torch!" Upis gave the spear a careful push, brandishing a length of rope from his belt, and the scribe backed onto the ramp. He meant to tie her to the wagon.

This couldn't be it, not after everything they had gone through to get to this point. Staring into Upis's unfeeling eyes, a terrible dread built within Katrina's breast. The tip of the spear had drawn blood. She could feel it trickling down her chest and soaking into the fabric of her dress. How could she let this end in flame and death? She had to free Kirra.

"Crepas!" Upis called again. "Where on Zeus's green earth are you?"

"He's out to lunch!"

Katrina didn't readily recognize the voice, but it was not the man Upis was searching for. The truth of it was clear in his baffled expression. Upis turned in time to meet a frying pan to the face. His eyes rolled backward in his head and his grip on the spear loosened. Katrina was free!

"Falafel!" she cried. "Thank the gods!"

"Thank them later," he said, his eyes insistent.

"Where's the other one?"

Falafel held up the frying pan. "He's out to lunch."

"Wait just a minute!" The dandy man in the fine clothing approached with his pointing finger. "I want my cloak back, you thief."

With a roll of his eyes, Falafel panned him too, and then turned back to Katrina. "Now go! Help the girl!"

Katrina didn't waste any time with thank you's or hugs of appreciation. She did an about face and ran onto the ballista. Strangely, there were no other waiting guards. And why would there be? She was standing atop a wooden wagon prepared to go up in flames. The stench of oil greeted her nose like a slap in the face, but she wouldn't allow nausea its way. She battled it and her fear of imminent death for the sake of this girl she barely knew, but who had left an indelible place in her psyche since the moment they met. The girl had a strength of will about her Katrina could only hope to possess one day—the strength every true scribe desired.

Removing her dagger from its sheath, Katrina approached the pole upon which they had bound Kirra. Heavy rope twined tight around her torso down to her legs. This was going to take some time. She hoped she had it to use.

Across the way, the battle in the center of the marketplace was shaping up according to plan. Hercules had Nikolos, encased within his beloved monster, the Megalith, distracted. Neither he nor the rest of his guards knew she was here working her dagger through Kirra's bonds (nor would it seem did Kirra; she stared blindly up at the clouds).

Following the plan, Daedalus was making his rounds to Falafel's secret stash of incendiary. The inventor had to duck the swing of an arm to smash the final earthenware vessel upon the Megalith. Nikolos didn't know what was coming. He continued to laugh at a poised Hercules holding an oaken door as a shield. Standing ready to dodge another blast of flame, Hercules met Katrina's eyes across the dirt courtyard.

He had taken a beating in the fight to save Kirra's life. He was exhausted and bleeding, ready to end this. The final fight rested upon her shoulders and she had only begun to cut through the rope.

"Kirra, you've got to help me! Try to wiggle free!"

But the girl, her eyes heavenward, seemed not to hear her. Katrina cut faster. For the first time since the battle began, she heard Nikolos's booming voice from inside the Megalith.

"I'll burn the whole city down if I have to, Hercules!"

Whole sections on the other side were already burning, but Hercules stood his ground. None of the fire had made it to the ballista. Katrina still had time. He had to end this now!

"It doesn't have to be this way, Nikolos," he yelled up to the man in the machine. "You can put a stop to this. Let me take Daedalus and my friends out of here. You'll never have to see me again."

"You're ten years too late for that outcome, Hercules. You want me to put a stop to this? I plan to!"

One humongous metal arm grabbed a support column. The people on the parapet above ran in opposite direction, but the soldiers underneath were not as lucky. The full weight of the parapet fell upon them, crushing them. Their cries for help reached Hercules's ears, and though it pained him not to run to their aid, there was nothing he could do. Nikolos had hurled the stone column. Hercules only had time to block it with his makeshift shield. He may have been half-Olympian, but he was also half-human. The weight and velocity of the column sent him staggering backward onto the ground, the column going one way and his shield going the other.

He was tiring, weakening. He didn't know how much more fight he had in him. Above him, Nikolos was rearing back. Another blast of fire would head his way, and in the seconds before it happened, before he grabbed his shield to protect himself, he caught sight of where he had landed—right across the ring of incendiary liquid.

 _NO._

The flame hit him. Hercules drug in his feet beneath the protection of the wooden door, but even it wouldn't save him for much longer. Wood had a tendency to burn when met with flame. The heat subsided and he opened his eyes in time to see the liquid ignite. Fire shot along it with the speed of an arrow right for the ballista.

Hercules screamed.

" _Kirra!"  
_

* * *

Standing on the sidelines, Falafel felt as helpless as a child in the shadow of a centaur. He could do nothing but watch as the speeding line of flame met the wagon's front wheel.

* * *

It wasn't that Katrina had not heard a man scream before. She remembered the butcher all too well. His had been in agony, in pain. This scream was different, and for a second or two, it seemed to come from different directions. There was pain, but there was stark terror, too, and rage. It pulled her intense gaze away from the task of freeing Kirra (and though her blade was sharp, she was barely halfway through) to the sight of Hercules. The memory of him huddled beneath his makeshift shield would remain with her for the rest of her life. His stare was so wide and full of terror, she saw nothing but the whites of his eyes. The blue she had remembered when they hid in the forest together were lost to her.

Katrina didn't have to see. She knew what was coming and she was powerless to stop it.

A finger of flame licked over the side of the wagon, embraced a portion of the wooden gate and moved with an artful grace at right angles like two dancers parting and pirouetting off stage. In the final seconds, the orange flame's beauty mesmerized her. She hadn't forgotten about Kirra. The simple truth was their time was up and she had failed. Someone else would have to tell the story.

Behind her, pounding feet, what Katrina mistook for the destruction of flame. Hands on her arms. Her heart didn't have time to fear their grip, let alone fight them. She was in the air, slamming to the ground at the foot of a burning ballista before she could even comprehend what had happened.

* * *

A burning at his back brought Hercules to his feet. He tossed the charred wooden shield aside. The ring of fire was now complete. Though a desperate ache burned within him, there was no turning back. Even Nikolos seemed to know it. He shuffled on monstrous but uncertain feet, eyeing the wall of flame encapsulating him and Hercules within its circle.

Not quite two years ago now and Hercules found himself filled with the same vengeance that had sent him on a quest of destruction against Hera. Out of the corner of his eye, the ballista burned, but he wouldn't let himself see it. There was nothing he could do. Fire was a power of nature he could not control. His power extended only over those who wielded the force of nature to their own ends. He vowed the vengeance Hera rightly deserved would come upon Nikolos. Hercules was not one to kill out of anger or in a sense of retribution. He was not judge and executioner, but let Mount Olympus and The Underworld be his witness, he would be damned if Nikolos took another life this day or on any other to come.

Nikolos began to laugh, his uncertainty gone. "You think this will stop me, Hercules! You're wrong!"

He swiped one metal arm and Hercules easily avoided it by jumping backward toward the flaming wall behind him. With a roll, he landed safely on the other side, leading a laughing Nikolos ever forward.

"Run, coward!" he called and stepped one monstrous foot into the flame.

Maybe he thought himself invincible or god-like inside the Megalith. Maybe he paid little attention to the vessels Daedalus had launched to his metal exterior. The viscous substance clung to it like oil on skin and when he stepped into the flame, Nikolos went up like a torch. Hercules could almost see his shock as the flames shot up around him and past his metal faceplate.

When they formulated the plan back in Daedalus's home, it was to set the Megalith aflame, which would convince Nikolos to climb from the beast out of his own initiative. Hercules had wanted to see him tried and judged and returned to Lexos where he could live out the remainder of his miserable life in exile. That wasn't going to happen now, and not because he wanted revenge. The fire burned around the Megalith stronger than he had anticipated, and Nikolos became a raging inferno with legs. He couldn't see Hercules, but he marched forward anyway, a simultaneous laugh/scream reverberating within the Megalith. The flames surrounding the Megalith were baking him alive, sending him off the edge of sanity. As much as Hercules wanted to think this was what he deserved for what he had done to Kirra, he couldn't. No one deserved to die this way.

Arms swinging, the Megalith lurched forward. Hercules could see the face of Nikolos. He wasn't done yet. He reared back and launched another stream of flame. Hercules shot to the right and a vendor's booth went up in flames. A helping hand reached for him and Hercules took it like a lifeline even as the pounding feet of the Megalith hammered their way.

"Daedalus, get out of here," Hercules cried. "Go!"

However, the old man pressed something into his palm, something squishy and gooey. He looked down at the ball Daedalus had made of nuts and oil. It had been a gift for his son, a son he'd loved more than anything in the world, and a loss that had sent him on the wrong path.

"Plug the igniter, Hercules. Put him out of his misery."

Daedalus didn't have to say anything else. It was fitting in a way. The one whose death had sent them down this path would be the one to end it. Hercules squeezed the ball in his fist and calculated the distance and the force he would need. He couldn't be off. Not by a millimeter.

The Megalith thundered forward, for Nikolos himself had become a screaming, maniacal entity encased within it.

 _Let's see what this silly, nutty thing can do._

Hercules threw the ball. It met its mark with frightening accuracy, plugging the igniter as the Megalith readied its final shot. The bolt of flame that would have shot forward onto the two hapless men turned inward and the Megalith came to a halt. The diamond atop its head shown with the brilliance of the sun and flames shot from the faceplate like flames in a smelting furnace. As Nikolos's screams reached a fever pitch, another bolt of lightning touched the metal rod. A deafening crack resounded in the marketplace.

Always a calm before the storm, Hercules had time to twist his body and shield Daedalus seconds before the Megalith exploded into pieces.

The echo of thunder rolled off the hilltop, and in its wake, descended a deafening silence. Covering Daedalus's body, Hercules opened his eyes and began to hear the first pelts of rain. He couldn't feel them as he and Daedalus were under the cover of rubble. Cooling raindrops would have been welcome after the battle for surrounding them were sizzling pieces of the Megalith. One such piece caught his eyes and held him for a long time.

It was a portion of the Megalith's arm and protruding from within it was a scorched hand clenched into a fist. For one insane moment, he imagined the hand crawling toward him and reaching for his throat, but those are the sorts of things the mind conjures when it sees something it cannot comprehend. As he watched, the fist gradually relaxed until its palm lay flat on the ground. Nikolos wasn't the undead. He wasn't coming back to life. He had simply reached a place he likely never thought he would find—peace. Whether he would meet peace (or something like it) in Tartarus or the Elysian Fields would be up to Hades. Hercules had no intentions of putting in a good word for him. Nikolos had seen others to meet their fate on the River Styx this day.

Hercules met the truth of it with a heavy heart. He lowered his head to the dirt and fought the ache that encompassed his entire body.

 _Kirra…  
_

* * *

 _ **:(**  
_


	18. Chapter 18 - Epilogue

_**Kirra's Journey**_

 **Episode 3 – Outsider Looking In**

* * *

 _Chapter 18 - Epilogue_

Huddled in the hollow of an old tree, Kirra held her breath as dead leaves crunched underfoot somewhere outside. She couldn't quite ascertain from which direction they came as their sound was beginning to fade away. Her stepfather had been right there, close enough she could have reached out and touched him as he passed. He didn't know of their hiding place, her favorite place in Endor, the place she and Benny went to share secrets and tell silly stories. He could not find them here. Outside, Hiram was the ghost. Inside, they were real. They could touch hands. They could hold onto each other as the ghost passed, safe in the knowledge that he could not hurt them here. This was their special place. Here they would stay until silence returned to the woods, until the crunch of leaves had passed and the birds felt safe to sing and the squirrels were comfortable with scampering again. In the quiet of their special place they could share the small cakes they had swiped from the baker's rack outside his shop, and they could smile at each other over how good it tasted and pretend the world outside didn't exist. In those little spaces of time, she didn't worry about the awkwardness of his features: the puppy dog ears and the nose a bit too big for his young face. His dark eyes were all she knew. They spoke of the future, of a time when happiness and adventure would fill their days together.

"Promise me," she would say. "Promise me we'll always have days like today." And he would promise. They would eat their cakes and hold hands, and he would promise.

Then, one day, he was gone. She couldn't fathom why. She waited in their special place for him to come. He always came with some gift, a snack his mother made or an interesting item he found along the way (a bug, a lizard, a rock), but most of the time he brought a wild flower. Kirra waited for weeks before she realized Benny wasn't coming back, before she realized the days of wild flower gifts were over. The day she made the connection was the last day she ever saw the old tree. Their special place became a haunted, abandoned place she no longer wanted to visit.

Then the days of torment began.

" _Is this anything like that other little boy you were interested in? You know ... the one I ran off. Haven't seen his skinny hide since."_

Kirra had always hated her stepfather, but she didn't know the full extent of her hatred until the day he said those words. He was the reason her Benny didn't meet her in their special place, why she couldn't look at another wild flower without thinking about him and hating him for abandoning her.

 _The one I ran off_.

The memory of that night had been fuzzy for some time, but it came back clearly now as smoke rose around her, blocking her vision and filling her lungs. It wasn't simply Hiram's appalling comments about Hercules which had stirred the hatred within her. Had Mother not come to her rescue, her hatred alone might have scarred him. She had come to the battle with nothing but a kitchen knife, the kind you use to cut meat from the bone, but Mother planted it into his upper back with both hands gripped firmly around the handle. Hiram's scream had been like no other. She remembered how much she had enjoyed the sound of his pain. _Just desserts,_ as Mother called it. It wasn't good enough, though. Mother had aimed too high and hit his shoulder. Maybe, she aimed right where she wanted to. Maybe, she couldn't bring herself to aim center mass where the heart beat. Whatever the reason, Hiram went from a thunderstorm of malice to a hurricane right there in her own bedroom.

Heat built up as though she had stepped inside Mother's wood stove, but Kirra hardly registered it. Memory is a powerful thing, and a buried memory, one that burns like fire, has the power to obliterate all other thought, even pain. Kirra could remember everything about the night she left Endor for good, even the parts she made herself forget. Hiram's thick hands in her hair and gripped like a vice upon her bare leg. Mother's cry as she sank the knife into his flesh and her screams when she realized she hadn't done the job right. Hiram loosening his grip on her to take his rage out on Mother. The sounds of his fists striking Mother's face. The crunch of bone, the wheeze of breath. The sight of his hands around Mother's throat, choking, eyes bugging, tongue protruding out of her mouth while she fought for breath. Kirra's own hands upon the handle of the knife, pulling it out of his back and bringing it back down upon him again and again and again and again and again.

"I promise, we'll always have days like that day," said a voice, serene to her ears. It loosened her of bonds both physical and psychological. She felt truly free for the first time since she left Endor. Free of her fear of the future, free of fire, free of Hiram, free of smoke, free of hatred and pain. Kirra grasped the truth with both hands. Hiram was dead. Memory had made him so—his sightless eyes, his last wheezing breath, his clenching fist, his twitching body. Kirra became her own hero, because she had become _his_ killer.

Heat fled. Cool air prevailed. Smoke cleared. Rain fell.

"Kirra! Thank the gods!"

Those words sounded strange coming from his voice. She couldn't imagine a stranger combination. Hercules, son of Zeus, hater of all things Olympian, including Zeus himself, was thanking the gods. Whatever for?

A shuffle of feet in the dampening dirt surrounded her, hands fell upon her torso, her arms, until finally she felt her body lifted into strong arms. She was safe. The heat was gone, the flames were gone, and in her mind, the threat of Hiram was gone, too.

As though from a distance, she heard Hercules say, "Daedalus, you didn't build any more of those things, did you?" She heard laughter in the voices of Katrina, of Daedalus, of Falafel, of Hercules himself, but in the one voice she wanted to hear it, she did not.

* * *

Kirra opened her eyes to another day streaming through the window. Her surroundings were at first unfamiliar. Was she at home in her old bed? Or was she in her new bedroom in Alcmene's home? Neither, but she recognized this place. She'd been here before. Oak work tables, glass vials and jars, the smell of chemicals and wooden packing crates.

"No, no, no," said a familiar voice. "Don't put the heavy tools in _there_. I have glass containers in that crate. Oh, this move is going to wreak havoc on my instruments."

A chuckle, one she knew well, floated to her from the other side of the room. The sound of his voice brought everything back into focus. "Where would you like for me to put them, Daedalus?"

Bracing herself up on her elbows, Kirra realized where she was. The place had changed much since the last time she was here. Daedalus's home was nearly empty. Stacked against the wall were the crates loaded with equipment Daedalus had spoken of. He looked lighter, freer than she had seen him the last time without the burdens of the past weighing on his shoulders. Back to his old demanding self, the inventor stood over an empty crate, pointing at it.

"Here," he said to the man standing beside him. "I want the lighter metal equipment in this crate."

He easily towered over Daedalus and could have used the tongs in his hands to bop the older man over the head if he wanted to, but that wasn't Hercules's way. Besides, he was too busy laughing at the old man's obsessive nature.

"Yes, sir," Hercules said with another chuckle, drawing an embarrassed grin from the older man.

The easiness about him warmed Kirra. Everything that had gone wrong now seemed to have righted itself. Hercules was all right. Wherever she had gone, however much time had passed since her last vivid memory of being in the king's palace, she had missed the comfortable smile of Hercules greatly.

"If you two would stop joking around, we could probably get finished before nightfall," said an annoyed voice from behind a cleared worktable. "I do have a story to complete, you know."

Kirra shifted to see Katrina hefting a basket of linens onto the worktable. Their eyes met across the room and a rather lovely smile wiped the exasperation from her face. "Kirra's awake," she said, drawing the other two sets of eyes in the room.

Daedalus was the first one not so overcome with surprise to set his concerns aside and come to her, asking, "How are you, my dear?" But, it was to Hercules that Kirra's eyes were drawn. He didn't come rushing to her side as Daedalus and Katrina had. He stood away, a smile on his face which spoke of happiness to see her well again, yet reflected a sorrow she did not understand. An ache radiated from within him, one he reined in with sheer will.

Lost she was for what seemed like an eternity in the blue ocean of his eyes, pondering the pain he carefully hid, when a hand settled over hers. The strength of its squeeze told her it was the face she had sought in the void after the flame. She pulled her gaze away from Hercules to see a bandaged hand with scorched fingers. Her eyes followed the hand to its bandaged arm, where yellowing spots had already begun to soak through, and up to the awkward face of the boy she knew. His face had not faired any better. Hair singed, eyebrows partially gone, face bruised and cut, lip busted, but he was alive. Her Benny was alive.

She lifted her hand from his grasp, and in the silence as the others looked on, she touched the burn marks on the side of his face. He could have died trying to save her.

"Benny," she said, trying not to cry. "Why?"

He shuffled on his knees beside the bed, but his dark eyes did not leave hers. What she saw in them was not an apology or even an answer, but a desperate sadness, a guilt he could not contain. He closed his eyes, whether because he wanted to lean into the comfort her touch provided or because he couldn't take her searching the depths of his soul, Kirra couldn't know, but he answered her.

"I don't shirk on my promises."

When he opened his eyes, Kirra saw another answer there. He did not have to voice them out in the open for her to know them. Three words. Three simple words, and they terrified her. Not because Benjamin wanted to say them, but because they weren't coming from the person she wished to hear them from.

 _Two weeks later…_

Kirra stood on Alcmene's front porch, staring up at the stars. It had been some time since she left Euboea far behind, but the place lived inside her like a stain. She thought often these last few days of what had happened there, of the man who drew her out of the comfort of Alcmene's home, of the ghost who drew her in search of a truth she already knew, of the woman who had inspired her to always look for the good in others, and of the boy who had promised to protect her and nearly died trying to do so.

Much had changed in a short time, as they had the day she followed Hercules out of Attilas, but she did not have the hope she had then. She felt torn. Torn between the life she had here and the beckoning life of the open road. In that sense, nothing had changed since the start of her journey to Euboea, and yet, everything was different.

A chorus of laughter reached her from inside the house. Iolaus's was the worst of the lot. He'd arrived the night before, brimming with stories about his grandmother and a vanishing village and Hephaestus. Had she stayed and not ventured from Alcmene's home, had she been Alcmene and Jason's dutiful charge instead of a willful girl bent on traveling the known world on her own, Iolaus's story might have enraptured her. From what little she caught of it, it was full of mystery and intrigue and romance. The ingredients for a great story, one she could probably write lyrics to and sing songs about.

Hercules had stolen her muse, however, and her mood fled with him when he went back inside the house. She had followed him out here after dinner.

Dinner at Alcmene's table had been a strange affair. The table, decked with roasted chicken and vegetables, had a festive feel. A welcome home dinner with all the trimmings, and they had eaten their full, but the conversation around the table was more pensive than festive.

Hercules had excused himself right after. She overheard Iolaus asking him if he were all right. "I'm fine," he'd said. "I just need some time to myself." Kirra gave it to him, but only for so long. She needed to talk to him. A truth had begun to weigh on her heart and she had to speak it to him before it burst from her like a dam. The subject wasn't one to bring up in front of a house full of people.

When she went out the front door after him, two eyes had bored into her retreating back. They were like hands pulling at her, trying to keep her from leaving the room. Kirra had ignored them, cognizant of the reason for their persistence, and followed Hercules outside under a blanket of stars.

He had walked several feet from the house and did then what she was doing now, staring up at the shimmering constellations, maybe even wishing by them.

"Dinar?" she had said.

He had turned to her, startled and struggling to hide it. "Hmm?"

"For your thoughts."

He'd smiled then, and nodded, but there was little contentment behind it. "You're right. I have been doing a lot of thinking."

"What about?"

"About you."

He turned to look at her when he said it, and when he did her heart had nearly leapt from her chest, for he hadn't simply looked at her, he'd looked _into_ her. His eyes had searched her, as if he were looking for something he hoped to find.

When she could find her voice, she asked, "About me?"

He turned away and nodded, his eyes on a distant hill. "I've been thinking about everything that happened. It was a rough couple of days there in Chalcis, but it turned out better than I thought it would. The world doesn't have to worry about the likes of Nikolos anymore. Chalcis is on the mend. Daedalus is free to go back home to Crete and restart his life. Falafel is debt free and Katrina got her story of a lifetime…"

"Yes, she did," Kirra said, thinking of her last conversation with the scribe. "She said she would send me a copy when it's published. I can't wait to read it." The good vibes Hercules had faked turned pensive again and Kirra sighed. "If everything turned out well, what's bothering you? Everyone can sense it, you know."

There was a second when she thought his lip had turned up into a smile, but it was too fleeting to know for sure. When he turned back to her, it was with much effort. He had to pry his eyes away from the distant hill.

"I almost lost you."

Kirra felt her heart skip a beat. His voice had been low, his sigh heavy and his gaze directed at his hands. Were it not for the quiet of the night, she might not have heard him at all. She herself must be an impeccable actress. The surprise wouldn't show on her face, but she couldn't have spoken if Hercules had begged her to.

"It's been almost two years now since I lost Deianeira and the kids," he continued, his voice stronger but still weak. "Their loss in my life has been the most difficult trial I've ever experienced. I felt dead inside, like someone had ripped my heart from my chest. I didn't think I could feel happiness again…"

… _until I met you,_ she willed him to say. But, when was the last time anything had ever gone the way she wanted?

"It's hard knowing I can never hold my wife and tell her how much I love her, or play ball with my sons. But, I think the worst part…" His voice had cracked then, and he'd had to clear his throat to go on. "…the worst part is knowing I can never hold my daughter again. I can't kiss Ilea when she's afraid and tell her 'daddy is here.' I'll never have that back again, but worse than that is experiencing her loss twice in my lifetime."

Kirra frowned. "What do you mean?"

He brought his eyes to hers and Kirra saw within them a certainty she did not like.

"It was just like the night Hera took my family from me. Only, in Chalcis, I had to make a choice. I had to choose between stopping a madman from tearing through Greece and ending hundreds if not thousands of lives…and letting my daughter die."

She had shook her head, confused and yet knowing exactly what he meant. "You're daughter?" A lump formed in her throat, tears flowed down her cheeks. She was powerless to stop them.

"You are a part of my family, Kirra," Hercules said. "And I know when you look at me, you see someone you could start a life with. But…"

The smile he had given her was heartbreaking, but regretful. In it, Kirra saw all her hopes and dreams of a life with him fade away.

Hercules sighed at the sight of her sorrow and took her hand. "When I look at you, I see the little girl I lost. I see the strong, brave woman she would have become had she been given the chance to live her life...and I let you go. I let you die. Yes, only in my mind, but to me I had just sacrificed my daughter for the greater good. I don't know if I can ever forgive myself."

She hitched in a breath that sounded like a gasp, but ended in a sob. Hercules had her in his arms in seconds, and though he gave the top of her head a soothing kiss, her heart felt like it was crumbling. She'd seen this coming, hadn't she? The things he'd said over the course of their journey. The difference in the way he would look at her verses the way he looked at Katrina. She should have foreseen this outcome. It was stupid of her to have developed such feelings for him, to think he might see her as anything but a little girl. Her only consolation was knowing he did love her. Maybe not in the way she wanted, but it was something.

"I'm sorry," he had whispered into her hair. "I'm sorry if I hurt you."

Kirra shook her head against his shoulder and sniffled. "No, not you. These things I do to myself." She had tried to smile. The attempt had been a miserable failure.

She understood now why his gaze had been on the distant hill. She had gone there once to see it for herself. Alcmene had mentioned its location one day in passing, and on a particularly lazy afternoon Kirra had marched up the hill both out of curiosity (albeit morbid curiosity) and out of respect. Deianeira, Ilea, Aeson and Klonus—at the top of the hill was their gravesite, overgrown with weeds and unkempt. It made little sense to her at the time why the site was left unattended. The answer had to be that it was difficult to go up there. Not on the body, but on the heart. If it were easy, he would be up there every time he came to visit his mother.

Standing here on the front porch, staring up at the stars, Kirra grasped where she stood in the grand scheme of the Hercules-family. Alcmene was the mother, Jason the friend, Iolaus the brother, and she…she was the daughter. It had been many long years since she'd had a real father figure in her life, but it didn't make it any easier to take. The hardest part would be coming to grips with the reality of it. As much as her pride wanted to blame Hercules for her heartbreak, she couldn't. Hercules had tried in the years since the death of his wife to find love elsewhere. The stories of his affection for the Warrior Princess were well known, but he still clung to the old love of his family. For him, there could be no one else.

Perhaps, in time he might…

Kirra silenced her thoughts. She wouldn't continue to sell this dream to herself. She wasn't the same girl who had followed him dutifully out of Endor. There comes a point in every young woman's life when she leaves the things of the child behind. It was time for her to grow up.

Thus, as Hercules walked back inside his mother's house, she abandoned the thought of telling him she was in love with him, and she gave up on confessing her role in the murder of her stepfather. Their final conversation under the stars had been awkward enough.

Kirra took a deep breath, dabbed at her eyes and peered cautiously through the window. Iolaus had a chicken leg in one hand and an expository tale to tell in the other. Hercules and Jason were laughing at his antics, Alcmene shaking her head. No, she could not go in. Not only because her eyes were probably red and swollen from crying, but because in some strange way, she did not fit into the picture they presented. She wasn't the only one either. The one person she wanted to see in there having as good a time as they were, was not there. She stepped from the porch and went around to the back of the house, and sure enough, she found Benjamin sitting alone on a bench in the backyard.

In the weeks since the events in Chalcis, his wounds had healed and his eyebrows had grown back in. Other than having shortened his hair to remove the heavily singed areas, he looked like himself again. His personality remained regrettably sullen.

Hercules had kept him busy while in Nesimus however. The heavy rains had started by the time they returned and he hadn't much time for brooding what with the sandbagging that needed to be done. It was on the return trip to Corinth, and these last few nights here at Alcmene's, that she felt he had grown restless. Here she found him again, one leg shaking like it had somewhere to go and one hand to his mouth, chewing on a fingernail.

He'd been watching her and Hercules. She knew without having to ask, and hated herself for the pleasure it gave her to know she had probably stabbed him in the heart. They had come to an understanding of each other before the world had fallen out beneath them back in Chalcis. She had let him kiss her twice, so of course, she had hurt him, but his pain held meaning. Hercules said she was a part of his family, but it wasn't real, not in the true sense of the word. Within their family circle, she was nothing more than an outsider looking in. With Benjamin, she didn't feel like an outsider. They stood in a circle all their own, created by a shared past both of them could cling to, and his promise meant his devotion was complete. He would not have to face choosing between her and the greater good. She would always be his first thought.

Kirra felt as selfish as Hiram and the truth of it ached like nothing else before, but she didn't want to let Benjamin go. It would happen, nonetheless. A little over a day from now, he would leave with Hercules to go to the Academy.

"I can't stay here, Kirra," he'd told her the night before, right in this spot. "I need to be somewhere where I fit in. I'm a soldier. I'm not a field hand. If I stay it will only be because of you."

Restless, agitated.

Benjamin didn't look at her when she sat beside him. His leg moved and his heart beat an unquiet rhythm against her until she slipped her arm beneath his, laced their fingers and rested her head on his shoulder. He gave a lengthy exhale which she relished more than his pain and he calmed, settling his fingers between hers.

A few moments passed between them in silence like the old days when they sat in the hollow of the tree and listened to the sounds of the woods. Benjamin bent. From the ground, he plucked a wild flower. Kirra took it with a smile.

They had found their special place again.

THE END

* * *

 **This is not the end of Kirra's Journey. Though troubles and setbacks have strayed her from the course she hoped her life would have taken, she still has plenty fight and plenty growing left to do. Who knows where life may take her in the future. So, don't give up on her. She will be back.**


End file.
